


To Provide For Your Needs

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Bromance, Drug Addiction, Dubious Consent, Epic Bromance, Exhibitionism, Eye Sex, F/M, Friends in love without having sex, Indirect Sex, LOTS of M/M touching, Masturbation, Multi, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Oral Sex, Other, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyfidelity, Rimming, Sensory Deprivation, VERY close friends, Vaginal Sex, Virgin!Sherlock, Voyeurism, eye fucking, so homophobes don't read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is, at its heart, a Johnlock story; however there will be no direct sex between Sherlock and John. Instead, this story is as the title says about providing for someone else’s needs. I also wanted to revisit the deprivation tank since I had made it out to be a torture device in another story, and frankly they intrigue me in a good way rather than bad. So if you can tolerate a bit of het sex for this story, I think you will find it a very fulfilling emotional relationship by the time it is through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

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We do not own ANY of these characters, shows, movies, or the companies associated with them. We do not make money off these fics and will not accept offers of funds.

 

 

 

 

 

It was a danger night. John had gotten good at recognizing him, especially after he missed one and Sherlock fell off the wagon shortly after returning from the dead. The subsequent three weeks of searching for the strung out detective- who did _not_ want to be found- had been more hellish than his fake death had been. John had spent countless sleepless nights practicing Sherlock’s memory tricks so that if there was even an inkling of similar behavior to the days prior to that danger night, alarm bells would go off in John’s head and he could act immediately.

So the moment Sherlock started tugging at his hair John texted Lestrade, Gregson, and Dimmock and demanded a case- any case so long as it got Sherlock out of the flat. When Sherlock started scratching at the insides of his elbows John gave up on texting and outright called them.

“Shit, John, I’m at a crime scene. What is it?”

“Can we pop by? Where is it?” John asked, not bothering to hide his activities from the narrowed eyes of the consulting detective stretched out on the couch.

“It’s a three, at the most. Even I’m bored,” Lestrade sighed.

“Where?”

“He won’t leave the flat for a three, you know that,” Lestrade argued irritably, “What are you going on about? Did he shoot something again? You need to get rid of that gu-“

“It’s a danger night,” John cut off.

“Shit,” Lestrade swore vehemently.

“It is _not_ a ‘danger night’!” Sherlock shouted irritably, “Who ever heard of a ‘danger night’ anyway? Who came up with that term? It’s ridiculous!”

“Mycroft,” John replied.

“Oh, of course! Mycroft! Why didn’t I immediately suspect my cake-eating ponce of a brother!”

“Oi!” Lestrade snapped in John’s ear, “That’s my boyfriend he’s talking about!”

“Lestrade can hear you,” John informed Sherlock.

“Good! Lestrade! It is NOT a danger night!”

“Yes it is, and we need a case. How about a cold case? Anything?” John asked into the phone.

“Is he pacing?” Lestrade asked.

John watched him worriedly, “Yeah, he is. Knocking things over, too.”

“Will you _stop_ talking about me as if I’m not in the room?!”

“Ask him,” Lestrade sighed, “He might be honest with you. If not I can send a team over.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, let’s just get him out of the flat, yeah?” John asked. He hated it when they searched the place.

“Oh, yes! Let’s just move Sherlock off the couch where he’s comfortable and throw him out into a world full of drug addicts and pushers! That will solve EVERYTHING!” Sherlock shouted to the room in general.

“I’ll call you back,” John muttered and hung up quickly, “Sherlock, are you saying you don’t _want_ a case?”

“Of course I want a case, John! Don’t be stupid!” Sherlock snapped, tugging at his hair again, “The _Work_ , the _Work_ , John!”

“I know, it’s all that matters. I am trying. Cigarette?”

“I NEED A CASE!” Sherlock screamed at him, darting across the room and invading John’s space with the obvious intent of intimidating him. John didn’t even blink, just raised his chin to maintain eye contact and kept his face neutral.

“I am trying, and I’ll keep trying until I find you one or go out and murder someone myself so you can figure out how I did it,” John teased, letting a smile creep onto his face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “ _Obvious_. With your military background a sniper shot from a difficult trajectory would be the first way you’d plan it.”

“Actually,” John started to correct, a bit alarmed that they were having a conversation on how John would murder someone, but Sherlock cut him off.

“Then you’d realize how obvious that was and you’d go to medical mode: Morphine is the easiest, but I’ve seen that enough times to fall asleep before Lestrade finished describing it. Same with smothering, overdoses of other kinds, drugging into a medical coma, drugging into a hallucinogenic state…”

“Could we not discuss this?” John asked, horrified at the turn the topic had taken.

“Finally you’d realize that the only way to make it interesting would be to visit one of Moriarty’s men in prison and ask them for tips.”

“Really?” John asked, eyes widening. He could see himself making that leap, though he’d been joking earlier so his train of thought hadn’t gone that far ahead.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Sherlock snarled, pacing again, “Then you’d repeat one of Moriarty’s crimes, but tweak it just a bit so it wasn’t obvious- well obvious to _you_. I’d solve it within a few hours and then hide the evidence so you wouldn’t go to jail. We’d have a very uncomfortable conversation in which I’d tell you not to bother doing that again or at least get a _real_ evil genius to plan it out, go out for dinner, and then I’d relax and you’d finally stop _staring at me like that!”_

“Okay, assuming that I actually was serious about killing someone for you, I guess that’s how it would plan out.”

“Of course it is how it would plan out! You aren’t actually _capable_ of doing something evil, you’d do it all with the _best of intentions_ ,” Sherlock spoke the last words in a mocking tone, “And then spend the rest of your life regretting it. No. John. As your friend, I can’t let you do that. I forbid it.”

“Oh, well, as long as we’ve got that cleared up, can we skip to the dinner and you relaxing part?”

Sherlock gave him a withering glare and fell back into his chair, “I _need_ a case!”

“Right. I’m calling Lestrade,” John sighed, and left the room to make the call uninterrupted from the hallway.

John had just arranged for Sherlock to come in and look over an unsolved murder from 1902- apparently they never really stopped looking if it was as bizarre as this one was- when he hung up and walked through the door to find Sherlock tying off his arm in the middle of the den.

John dove for the mess of drugs on the side table and ended up being tackled by one very despirate Sherlock Holmes. The two wrestled on the floor, shouting obscenities and pulling hair like schoolgirls. It wasn’t until Sherlock took it up a level and tried to punch John with those very well-trained boxing fists that John started taking it seriously. Then he twisted about and had Sherlock pinned beneath him on his face and knees.

“Boxer vs former wrestling champ,” John panted, “I’ll win once we’re down on the ground _every_ time.”

“I’ll remember that,” Sherlock growled angrily, “Now _get off_!”

“No. Listen to me. I can help you. I can give you the same rush you get from the drugs, but I can do it without the drugs.”

Sherlock scoffed, “How?”

“You have to do exactly as I say and you have to _trust me_. Do you trust me, Sherlock?”

“Of course,” Sherlock replied immediately, “What am I to trust you with?”

“Your life, your sanity, and your habit.”

“Oh, well, if it’s only those,” Sherlock replied mockingly.

“I’m _serious_ , Sherlock,” John hissed, giving his twisted arm a jolt to let him know he meant business, “I can help you, but you would have to work with me. You’d have to let go and completely trust me. _Completely_.”

“You’re serious,” Sherlock noted, then thought on it a moment, “Yes. Alright. What have you got in mind?”

“Your word you won’t go for the needle?”

“Don’t need it now,” Sherlock chuckled, “I’ve got a puzzle in one John Watson to solve.”

John smirked, “Okay, I guess that’s a start, but I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. What I have in mind is probably quite inferior to your brilliant mind. It might still work though; in fact I’m sure it will. I’ve read up on it for months now, and I’m positive you’ll get what you need from it.”

John let Sherlock up and hurried to put the drugs out of his sight while he stretched and massaged his shoulder.

“All right, then,” Sherlock stated, popping up on his feet, “What now?”

“Go to the bathroom and run a bath, but not too hot. Get undressed and get in. You have any more of this stuff hidden anywhere?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to do as John ordered, but didn’t answer his question. John sighed. He’d search the flat _after_ he’d given Sherlock his fix… if it worked. He wasn’t nearly as confident as he’d informed Sherlock he was. Of course, the git probably knew that. John took a deep breath, stripped off his shirt and vest, and headed into the bathroom to smirk at the very anxious consulting detective.

“This isn’t going to end up on youtube, is it?”

“No.”

“It isn’t anything sexual? I’ve experimented with sexual release in lieu of drugs, it doesn’t _work_ that way.”

“I promise you this will be entirely platonic and far more stimulating than sex. I will have to put my hands on you, but no place more intimate than your chest.”

“Fascinating, what now?” Sherlock asked eagerly.

“I’m going to fetch a few things. Okay here for a minute? I don’t want to come back and find you like that again.”

“Go on,” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, “I’ve not got anything in here anyway. The bathroom is too absurd a hiding spot.”

John headed up to his room and pulled a box out from deep in his closet. It was very dusty. He’d moved it here from a storage facility and never opened it. In fact, it hadn’t been opened once since his university days. John took a deep breath to brace himself for the emotional backlash and opened the box to gaze at the contents. He brushed a stray tear away. Amanda was long gone and crying for her would not bring her back, a fact he had faced decades ago.

John stood and walked downstairs with the tattered box in hand. He placed it on the bathroom seat and brought each item out to line them up on the side of the tub. Sherlock studied them but made no comment.

“I’m going to use each of these on you. We’ll go slowly at first. If you want me to stop, all you have to do is tap the side of the tub and it all ends. That goes for if you’re panicked or if you’ve just had enough for this session.”

“Session,” Sherlock repeated.

“Yeah. Hang on, I need a straw for you to breathe through.”

John had ‘forgotten’ it on purpose. He wanted to leave Sherlock alone with the items for a moment to give him a chance to back out if need be. He hadn’t by the time John found a disposable straw from some take-away and headed back in. He turned on the little space heater they used to warm the bathroom in the winter and waited a bit for it to heat up. The water couldn’t be too hot, but he didn’t want Sherlock to chill after being submerged for a while.

“Okay. Blindfold first. Close your eyes.”

John knelt down on a folded towel on the floor and secured the plastic, molded blindfold around Sherlock’s eyes. It tied tightly in place with three shoe-strings that went over the head and around each side to knot in the back. Once secure and certain it wouldn’t be released due to the water, he pulled out the nose clips.

“This will pinch a bit, but after a while you shouldn’t notice it. Nose clips, now.”

John secured the clips in place and asked Sherlock to blow gently out his nose.

“Nothing?”

“No.”

“Good, we don’t want you getting a snout full of water. Now, the mits.”

The mits were made of shiny polyurethane, and tied securely at the wrists. Sherlock’s hands would be trapped in fists, though they weren’t designed to be that tight; despite his dainty hands, his were a good shade larger than Amanda’s had been.

“Doing okay?”

“This is dull.”

“Ears next, and then I’m going to have you lie down under the water. You’ll breath through the straw and you’ll need to relax completely,” John replied, and tugged on one ear to slip a small foam earplug in it. He repeated that with the other ear and then placed a pair of foam-padded sound reducing earmuffs on top of them. The final touch was a mouthpiece that secured around Sherlock’s head and in his mouth much as a mouth guard was, but it had a hole for a straw. He had several of these, but this one was the introductory model and had the smallest hole. The point was to overwhelm Sherlock by shorting his air supply as well.

He placed the straw in last and had him lean back; supporting his head despite the fact it wasn’t necessary, until he was completely submerged. Well, his head was, anyway. His long lanky legs made for a tight squeeze, so his knees were protruding completely. Before pinning him down, John placed a [motorcycle helmet](http://www.amazon.com/Matte-Black-Motorcycle-Street-Helmet/dp/B0097COWM4/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1383249106&sr=8-5&keywords=motorcycle+helmet+full) on his head and secured it tightly, slipping his own sports mouth guard in place. John placed one hand on Sherlock’s forehead and the other on his chest so that Sherlock wouldn’t have to flex a single muscle to stay underwater. Sherlock was still for a moment, simply breathing in and out of the straw and lying stiffly in the water. John waited; ignoring the growing cramps in his arms, and kept himself braced for the eventual fallout. When it happened it happened the same way it had with Amanda. First Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. His stiff muscles were beginning to tell since he wasn’t relaxed at all. Then he made a short, irritated movement intended to shrug John off. John made sure the hand on Sherlock’s head was harsh, but he one on his chest was securing him only enough so that he couldn’t escape- it wouldn’t do to _really_ restrict his breathing.

Sherlock banged on the side of the tub and John closed his eyes in preparation for a _lot_ of splashing and said a silent apology to his friend. Sherlock banged again. Then he banged with both fists. Then his hands came up out of the water and tried to scrabble and hit John, who took each punch without moving out of the way. He had to keep his neck and shoulders as relaxed as possible to avoid an injury since Sherlock was a trained boxer, which Amanda had not been. Sherlock became _really_ panicked then and began kicking and thrashing in the water. He grabbed- well more like _hooked_ with the fabric of his mitts- the soap dish attached to the wall and _pulled,_ but John had been prepared for that. He had _not_ been prepared for it to come off the fucking wall, though, and Sherlock utilized his new weapon by clenching it between both hands and got him once on the top of the helmet and once against the visor. The visor cracked but didn’t shatter so John was spared injury. The man had lost enough mental capacity to forget about the dish gripped strongly in his hand by now and was simply flailing uselessly. Up until now he’d managed to keep himself from getting the straw below water level, but with his heightened fear he lost track of that as well and got his first gulp of water. Sherlock coughed, sputtered, thrashed, then stilled and swallowed the water.

John waited.

Sherlock waited.

Sherlock began to sob and still John waited.

XXX

Sherlock was _bored._ John’s experiment was intriguing to say the least. Sensory deprivation could have very curious effects on people’s minds, but Sherlock had never heard of someone getting _high_ off of it before. Still, John had an entire kit for it, so it was entirely possible that he had something in mind Sherlock hadn’t heard of before; certainly the kit itself had been a surprise as he’d never deduced that John would be into that sort of scene.

At first it was rather nice. It was completely silent and Sherlock spent some time composing music in his head without the noise of the city or his flatmate to distract him. The water was a soothing temperature and even when it cooled the space heater would keep him from becoming chilled. However, the novelty quickly wore off and after what Sherlock estimated to be twenty minutes- he wanted to give it the good ole college try- he tapped out. And waited. And tapped out again. And then banged forcefully on the walls of the tub to show John he wasn’t fucking _joking_. This stupid game was _done_.

Except it wasn’t. John didn’t let him up. Sherlock got angry then and took a swing at him only to connect with… the damned helmet! He’d assumed that had been a part of the kit for use when _not_ in water, but John had planned on Sherlock fighting him! Sherlock panicked then and began swinging desperately. He tried to pry the helmet off, but his tightly wrapped hands wouldn’t allow for it. He managed to knock the soap dish down and gripped that between two mitts to beat at John, but it was all so _useless_. He got in a shoulder hit, he thought, but that wouldn’t incapacitate him.

Then Sherlock learned the real meaning of the word panic as their previous conversation came to mind and he realized if he didn’t know _one_ thing about John, what else could he have missed? Perhaps the reason John took Sherlock in stride so often was because he was a sociopath himself, but a far more disturbed and better practiced one. Perhaps John was even a murderer, and this was his bloody kit! What if Sherlock was just the next in a string of victims. The box had looked old, decades old, and untouched for a long time. Had Sherlock’s attempt to meet his own fix triggered John to go back to a long-repressed killing spree? Any moment now. Any moment and John would stop up the straw and Sherlock would start to asphyxiate. Or perhaps he’d just grip the straw with his teeth and leave Sherlock to drown as his mouth cavity slowly filled up with water and his held air ran out.

Sherlock dipped his head in horror, trying to avoid the teeth that would surely be utilized to pull out the straw while John held hip pinned with both hands, and got a mouthful of water. He choked at first, some of it working it’s way up his nose. That left him coughing and sputtering, but he managed to swallow the water down and cough the rest of it out of his lungs. Then he stilled.

Sherlock tried to use his senses to deduce what was happening around him. He couldn’t see John, so perhaps he could… but he couldn’t _hear_ John so perhaps he could… but his hands were bound so he couldn’t even… and his nose was useless so he’d never be able to…

Nothing. There was nothing. No information coming in and none capable of going out. He couldn’t even swear at the man or try to talk him into rational behavior. He couldn’t negotiate or spout clever lines. He couldn’t save himself. He was helpless. Sherlock didn’t realize he was weeping until the water sloshed into the straw again, but he was quick to swallow instead of choke this time. Then he calmed himself, taking steady breaths to make up for his lowered breathing rate due to the straw. He had to think… but he couldn’t manage it! How could one process thought without any information coming in?! How could his mind _work!_

Then it hit him. John had said to trust him. John had emphasized that quite a bit. John wanted Sherlock to relax as well, he’d told him so. Had he? No. No, he hadn’t relaxed. He’d remained stiff and immobile since laying down in the tub, his arms even now were tightly pressing his gloved hands against the soap dish. Sherlock let it go. It dropped on his stomach- _oomph!-_ so he twisted a bit and it slid into the water beside him. Then he went limp.

For a heady moment Sherlock felt his body lift up a bit and thought John had released him, but it was just his natural buoyancy taking effect now that he wasn’t pressing himself down unconsciously. There was actually a gap between his back and the tub now he wasn’t fighting it, despite John holding him down by his chest. He found himself breathing easily and then started focusing on relaxing each muscle group in turn until he and the water he lay in- his only point of reference for the world outside his head besides John’s two strong hands- lay as still as he did. Even his slow breathing barely made a ripple.

John’s thumb gently stroked Sherlock’s forehead and he smiled a bit around the guard at that sign of approval. Then he just let his mind drift. Sherlock lost all sense of time. Everything vanished except the now tepid water and John’s hands. Sherlock found himself feeling that same whited out feeling he felt when high, but this one didn’t have a flighty or manic quality to it. It was simply a peaceful cloudy skyscape in his mind, and he floated through it with John holding him down to keep him from floating away into the stratosphere. Sherlock slowly came down from his headspace, but he wasn’t sure what brought him down. He didn’t _want_ to be down yet. Was something wrong? With John perhaps? Or the water? They were the only two things here, after all…

Then it hit him. It was his _body_ that had pulled him out. Not something simple like a need to urinate, but a rather aching erection throbbing between his bent legs. Sherlock spent a moment wondering what to do with it and then decided he’d better ask John and tapped the side of the tub.

John let him up and removed the mouth guard first.

“Something to say? You don’t feel done to me.”

Sherlock stretched his aching jaw for a moment, “I’m not, but I’m aroused and it’s distracting me from relaxing.”

“That’s normal. I can remove one mitt and you can wank if you like.”

“That’s acceptable?”

“Yeah, we’ll treat it like a circle jerk.”

“How does that work?”

“We don’t mention it afterwards.”

Sherlock nodded and motioned for the guard to be replaced. John did so and then removed a mitt before lowering Sherlock back down again. Sherlock relaxed, stretching his hand a moment, before lazily stroking his cock while John resumed pinning him down. He let the pleasure build slowly, slipping back into his headspace as a tight coil built in his abdomen. His bollocks throbbed and drew up, and Sherlock shivered through the most fulfilling, most utterly relaxing orgasm of his life. Sherlock went limp again, his uncovered hand just floating beside him in the water. He let himself drift for a while and then sighed happily as John pulled him gently out of the water.

XXX

Sherlock was ready, John could see it in the way he breathed, so he gently slipped one hand behind his head and the other around his waist and up to support his back. It was a difficult thing levering a full-grown man upright when he wasn’t cooperating, but he took his time and remembered his training and soon Sherlock’s head was resting against his bare shoulder. He took his time, still. There was no rush. He pulled the plug in the tub and let the water drain, content in the knowledge that the room was warm enough to keep him from becoming chilly; in fact, John was sweating. Once the tub was empty and Sherlock was shifting a bit from feeling ‘heavy’ again, he slowly started taking off the gear. Sherlock stretched his jaw lazily when the mouth guard was removed, smiling into the calm that surrounded him.

_It worked!_

XXX

Sherlock smelled John first. His sweat musky in the dark and quiet, it was like a guide pulling him slowly back towards reality by scent memory alone. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh, aware that his mouth was free but not interested in talking. The earmuffs came next, then each earplug was pulled off one at a time and Sherlock flexed his jaw again to let his ears pop as the soft sighs and creaks of their home became focused. John touched his cheek, brushing hair off of the mask apparently, and then slowly removed that as well. Sherlock kept his eyes closed for a moment, shifting with John as the man rearranged him and removed the second mitt. Sherlock flexed that hand as well and then waited for John to tell him what would come next.

A towel was the first texture besides John’s hands that Sherlock felt. It was draped over him and gently patted and rubbed until it became a semblance of drying off. It became more vigorous as Sherlock began to come out of the quiet place that John had placed him in.

“How are you feeling?” John asked, “Good? Bad?”

“Good,” Sherlock sighed.

“Need more?”

“No. M’tired.”

“Okay. Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

John helped Sherlock stand on oddly shaky legs, watched with a sense of detachment as he did a more thorough job of drying the dazed man off. John then helped Sherlock to step out of the tub, wrapped a towel around his waist in some silly semblance of modesty, and led him to his bedroom. Sherlock collapsed gratefully into bed, sighing at the feel of the sheets on his skin. John gently tucked him in and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I have to ask you an odd question. Do you want me to stay with you?”

Sherlock thought about it a moment, “Yes.”

[CHAPTER TWO](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/92873.html)


	2. vincentmeoblinn | To provide for your needs Ch 2

WARNING!! This chapter has some gore in it, along with some rather gross insect related trauma to a person. Do not eat and read!  
  
John donned Sherlock’s housecoat since it was nearby and lay down on top of the covers beside the man. He was already nearly asleep and didn’t spare a glance for John. John, meanwhile, struggled with a rather violent flood of emotions now that he was free of the focus of caring for Sherlock’s needs. His mind was replaying their scene together and overlapping it with Amanda’s from so many years ago. Over and over he saw her submerged in the water, struggling and thrashing, and then going still and allowing the peace to wash over her just as Sherlock had. John knew he’d been lucky. He’d broken every rule there was by holding Sherlock down after he’d tapped out. He and Amanda had agreed that if she tapped out before relaxing John wouldn’t let her up, but John hadn’t discussed that with Sherlock; he simply hadn’t given him the option. He hoped it hadn’t destroyed the trust the man placed in him, but he suspected that someone like Sherlock had to be _shown_ that he could trust John- and forcing him was the only way to do that. Sherlock’s description of himself as a sociopath was only partway accurate, but it was enough so that the man had to be beaten over the head with emotion before he registered it.

John watched Sherlock sleep in order to keep himself grounded in the ‘now’ that he was fighting to stay in. He couldn’t drift back to ‘then’ because it was simply never coming back. John had resigned himself to that, to the idea that he’d never love someone the way he had Amanda ever again. It simply wasn’t possible. It wasn’t even fair to wish he could, because frankly he wasn’t a good enough person to deserve _two_ true loves in one lifetime. However, he had Sherlock, who he had very similar feelings for. Oh, it wasn’t the same thing, no. He didn’t lust after Sherlock the way he had Amanda, but the other feelings? John wasn’t fool enough- or homophobic enough- to block out the fact that he loved this man. It wasn’t the same, but it was damn close, quite possibly the only thing stopping it from being the same was Sherlock’s own limitations where emotion were concerned.

Finally John drifted off with an image of long blonde hair floating in water as the woman he’d planned to spend the rest of his life with relaxed beneath his hands and let him give her peace.

XXX

John was depressed. Sherlock could see it in every movement of his body, every glance from his eyes, and every barely-touched meal. The problem was, Sherlock could find no cause for it. Their ‘session’ together seemed to be the only change that could have sparked this very deep melancholy, yet when he questioned John he stated with a very warm and real smile that any time Sherlock needed one again he was to simply ask.

“It’s no hardship to me, though we might have to pick something up for my knees. They were aching for a good day after! Frankly, I’m glad I can help. It gives me a way to feel like you’re really here with me still.”

Sherlock followed that white rabbit down its hole, asking John if he were having difficulty accepting that Sherlock was alive now. He denied it, but admitted to having nightmares about him jumping off a building still. It wasn’t the _source_ , though.

Since John was usually Sherlock’s guide to all things human and emotional, this left the consulting detective with no one to consult except the one other person who came close to tolerating him: Lestrade.

“Evening Detective Inspector,” Sherlock smiled, sitting himself down across from the D.I.

Lestrade gave Sherlock a raised eyebrow and then leaned back in his desk and waited. Sherlock waited as well. Lestrade gave first.

“I haven’t a case for you, if that’s what you’re after. Criminals have been downright dull lately.”

“I’m quite well, thank you for asking, and how are you?” Sherlock asked.

Lestrade rolled his eyes, “Alright, despite the fact you never _do_ pleasantries, I am perfectly capable of being polite. Good afternoon, Sherlock, how are you today?”

“I’m well, thank you, and how is your family?”

Lestrade blinked, furled his eyebrows, and replied, “Fine, all fine. My’s being a dick as usual and my daughter loves seeing her step-dad drive me ‘round the bend. How is your… John?”

Sherlock smiled, glad Lestrade was catching on to his attempt at starting a conversation about non-Work related things. Then he dropped the smile and adopted a concerned look.

“John is depressed. Why?”

Lestrade did that annoying thing where he stared at Sherlock for a while and just blinked stupidly. Sherlock was about to get up and leave, figuring questioning John more thoroughly was a better solution, but then the man let out a sigh and shook his head.

“So that’s it, eh? Reached the end of your human interaction list and can’t figure out your flatmate? Okay. He hasn’t told me anything lately, so why don’t I take him out for drinks tonight? Maybe he’ll tell me what’s going on.”

“Excellent. Wear a wire.”

Sherlock stood to leave, assuming all was wrapped up nicely, but was stopped by Lestrade’s bout of laughter.

“A wire?! Are you daft? I’m not helping you spy on your flatmate! If John wanted to tell you what was up, he would. If it’s something he doesn’t mind me sharing with you I’ll pass it along. Otherwise, I’ll be his _friend_ and just help him out of whatever is bothering him. Most likely he just needs some time away from _you_.”

Sherlock ignored the reference to spying. He didn’t need Lestrade’s help to do so; it just would have been simpler that way. Instead, he focused on the last bit of his statement: “You really think I’m the cause?”

“You usually are,” Lestrade snorted, “You’re not exactly an easy man to live with, Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned further. Lestrade’s assessment appeared to be correct. Despite John’s insistence that he bore no malice to Sherlock for his years-long charade, their session in which he probably _appeared_ to be dead beneath John’s hands- and by his hands- very well might have awoken some long-repressed despair from when Sherlock was pretending to be dead.

“I believe your assessment to be correct. A night out drinking will alleviate John’s decline?”

“Possibly. You’re really concerned, aren’t you? He’s not just refusing to clean up after you or something?”

Sherlock cocked his head to one side; “John is keeping the flat as clean as is possible without interfering with my experiments.”

“As clean as… you’re a walking contradiction, you know that? Just when I think you’re showing some glimmer of humanity you spout something like that and I re-assess the idea that I’m talking to a very advanced android. Are you sure Mycroft didn’t build you from scrap in his spare time?”

“Mycroft _has_ no spare time, as you well know since you take up what little of it he has,” Sherlock snorted, “Apparently running Great Britain is a full time job.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes and Sherlock decided any further conversation was a waste of time, so he turned on his toes and strolled out.

XXX

John had a good night with Lestrade, especially since the man declared it his shout. He got pleasantly buzzed and spent some time trying to pull women. Lestrade was kind enough to be his wingman, but even having a charming gay man along didn’t help his efforts. John went home alone and horny, laughing happily as he climbed out of the cab and thanked Lestrade for the night out away from his mad flatmate.

 

John headed upstairs, whistling cheerfully, and was met with a worried looking Sherlock.

“What’s the matter, you forgot I went out?” John grinned.

“No, I just… you look well,” Sherlock noted.

“Had a good time,” John grinned, “Going upstairs to have another… oops!”

John giggled at his loose tongue and waved off Sherlock’s confused look. He headed upstairs, singing merrily about equally loose women and flopped down on his bed to have a wank.

XXX

John staggered downstairs the next morning, not quite hung-over but not feeling too well either. He opted for a glass of water to help relieve the dehydration and then put the kettle on. Sherlock was sitting in his chair looking intense and mysterious. John ignored him. The bastard just loved it when John twittered over him when he was in one of _those_ moods. He’d tell John what was going on in his oversized brain when he was good and ready.

Finally, John sat down with his tea and put a cup at Sherlock’s elbow. Sherlock seemed to stir himself, gave John a surprised look as though he hadn’t realized he’d been up, and then picked up the cup to blow on it a moment. He studied John over the rim, sipping slowly at the hot liquid while John enjoyed his morning cuppa.

“Well?” John gave in finally, “What’s going on that has you in a mood this morning?”

Sherlock gave him an odd look, “It’s not me in the odd mood.”

“I’ve just had more than is good for me,” John smiled, “I’m not even hung over- a state in which you’ve seen me twice, just in case you deleted it.”

“I recall,” Sherlock replied.

They dropped silent and John continued to sip his tea while Sherlock continued to stare at him. Lesser men would have been unnerved. Lesser men would have lost their taste for whatever they were consuming under that gaze. Lesser men would have lost their temper and demanded their weird flatmate either tell them what was going on or stop being a creeper.

“Damn it Sherlock! Either tell me what you want or stop staring at me like I’m a specimen!”

Lesser men would have moved out _years_ ago.

“You aren’t depressed anymore.”

“I told you yesterday I wasn’t depressed.”

“You _lied_ to me yesterday about being depressed.”

“I would pour this over your head,” John informed while holding up his teacup, “If it weren’t already cooled off.”

“Not to mention a waste of tea,” Sherlock smirked.

“Well, obviously, there’s that, too,” John replied, trying to repress the twitch in his lips. Sherlock loved to tease him for being such a ‘Proper Englishman’ all the time. The truth was John was probably more devoted to Queen and Country than most because of his years of service, but was also less of a ‘Proper Englishman’ for them as well.

They dropped the subject, but Sherlock continued to stare at John oddly for the next few days. Then they walked onto a crime scene and everything came to a head.

XXXXXXXXXXX

There had been a string of murdered prostitutes for a few months now, but they had only just brought Sherlock on the case. He had reviewed the evidence and decried the departments lack of effort.

“Just because these women are working on street corners it doesn’t mean you don’t bother to do your _jobs!_ ” Sherlock snarled, throwing the file at Anderson’s head, “Three pages of information of _twelve murders!_ You should be ashamed of yourselves! And you call _me_ inhuman!”

“Oh shut it,” Anderson sneered, “We all know you’re just pissed off because you can’t solve the case just by looking at the file and tell us what _idiots_ we were all along!”

“That you’re idiots goes without saying!” Sherlock snapped back.

“Alright, that’s enough, Sherlock quit throwing things. Now why don’t we just wait till the next scene shows up and go from there, okay? No use pointing fingers.”

“We might already have one,” Donovan stated, hanging up her phone, “A mum just called in. Her daughter’s a streetwalker and they have a system while the mother is in the hospital for treatments for some illness. Calls her mum every night when she gets back home to let her know she’s okay. Her mum hasn’t heard from her in two days. The woman’s apartment is just two blocks down and since the mother is on the lease, the landlord said he’ll let us in.”

They headed over, Sherlock’s leg twitching in anticipation of a decent case, and John wondering over whose mother would just be fine with their daughter being a prostitute.

“They’re probably desperate,” Sherlock stated out of the blue.

“What?”

“The mother and her daughter. Prostitution isn’t uncommon for women in bad situations. With the mother ill and being hospitalized regularly the daughter is left to fend for herself _and_ provide for her mother with medical bills piling up. She’s got to do something. A job during the day provides poor wages, but a job at night as well, and one that only takes a few hours a night to earn high wages…”

“You’re saying it’s worth the risks? The degradation?”

“I’m saying there are worse things a human being can do to make money, and there’s a _reason_ it’s considered- probably inaccurately- to be the oldest female occupation.”

John was silent on that, but Donovan had something to say from the front seat, “Didn’t I see an arrest for prostitution in _your_ file, freak?”

“Sally…” Lestrade warned with a growl.

John looked at Sherlock in concern, but he was staring out the window without responding.

They arrived at the apartment building and headed up the stairs in a hurry. Most of the murders had been committed on the streets themselves, the general squalor adding to the lack of evidence as filth from several buildings around were mixed in with the scenes. They were hoping finding a victim with a known and searchable home would give them more information on their predators methods of choosing his next kill- assuming it wasn’t ‘look, there’s a prostitute, I think I’ll kill her’.

The landlord let them in and they walked into the unmistakable smell of death and decay. Sally covered her nose with her sleeve and Lestrade hissed at them to stay back while he flicked a light switch. The scene was a horrific one. The woman was in a chair in front of a tele that had a mirror over it to give them a completely uninterrupted view of her death. She was collapsed back with her mouth hanging open, insects happily gorging themselves in and around her face. Her eyes were shut- a small mercy- but movement behind the lids let John know there would be more horror behind them. The worse part for John and Sherlock, however, was one that wasn’t particularly grizzly. It was the needle protruding from her arm and the unmistakable smell of cooked drugs in the room despite the overwhelming scent of death. She had apparently lost her nerve, fallen off the wagon, and gone on a binge resulting in her death. The amount of drugs she’d cooked up and consumed all in a row was positively shocking.

John glanced aside at Sherlock to find him shaking beside him, his eyes glassy as he reached out and gripped John’s arm painfully.

“John? Help?”

Two simple words, but John had never been more spurred into action. He grabbed onto Sherlock and pulled him from the room; glad he was walking under his own power. John heard Lestrade shout at Sally to get a team on the scene and followed after him.

“This is bad, John, but how bad? Does he need to go in? I can call Mycroft…”

“No Mycroft!” Sherlock shouted, “John, the tub. I need the tub.”

“I know, Sherlock, that’s where we’re going. Just hang on until we get home,” John soothed, keeping his tone calm as he continued to pull Sherlock along by his elbow.

“Tub? What’s he talking about?” Lestrade asked.

John swore silently. What he was doing with Sherlock was barely legal, possibly not legal at all.

“It’s a therapeutic treatment Sherlock’s been utilizing to reduce cravings. It works,” John spat out as they walked out onto the street, and then hailed a cab for all he was worth.

“I’ll drive you,” Lestrade stated, “The sooner he gets home and gets this treatment- or whatever it is- the better.”

“I…” John was indecisive. He didn’t want Lestrade hanging about and throwing them both off, or worse yet arresting John for abusing his flatmate. Then he glanced at Sherlock and saw him scratching at the inside of his arm with enough vigor to cause injury. Lestrade was watching it as well. He dragged Sherlock towards Lestrade’s car by both wrists to stop him harming himself and shoved him in. He slid in beside Sherlock prodding him until he moved over, and then pulled his hands out of his hair.

“Gods, John, the _smell_. I can still _smell it_.”

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath to keep himself calm. It wouldn’t do for _him_ to panic. Scent memory was the strongest, he knew, but it could work both ways.

“Okay, bear with me Sherlock, this is a bit awkward but it might help,” John replied, and pulled Sherlock against him. He held the man’s wrists again, but kept one arm around him and tucked the man against his chest. Sherlock cottoned on instantly, and turned his head to breathe in John’s scent, “That’s it, Sherlock. Just you and me. Nobody else. Focus on me. I’ll take care of you. I’ll keep the bad stuff out.”

“I don’t want to end up like _her,”_ Sherlock whispered, and John gripped him tighter despite the awkward angle. He hadn’t heard Sherlock sound so frightened since Baskerville.

“You won’t. I won’t let that happen. We’re almost home. Listen, Lestrade, I don’t want his routine thrown off. Not to be a jerk, but could you just let us out?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a necessity. He has a sort of ritual that helps him cope and I know it well, but another person in the room might throw it all off.”

“Whatever gets him out of this,” Lestrade stated strongly, “I don’t care if you have to sacrifice animals in your den so long as he gets through.”

“Nothing so bloody, I assure you,” John smiled, and then tugged open the door and pulled Sherlock out of the car after him.

The kit was in the bathroom still. John had dissembled and cleaned it, placing it in a new, opague plastic box and storing it off to side. Magazines and various odds and ends had been piled up on top of it since then, but he simply dumped them off to one side and opened the lid. Sherlock was already shakily running the bath, muttering to himself as he checked the temperature repeatedly before climbing in completely dressed. John caught a snippet of his muttering and bit his lip in concern. Sherlock was going over the procedure for an autopsy.

Sherlock held out both arms and John strapped on the mitts first, then went quickly through the procedure. The first time they’d gone slowly, the process of muting each sense as important as the final act, but now it was all about getting Sherlock under as quickly as possible. John shoved his helmet on and pressed Sherlock down almost violently. The man began to fight instantly, but John was prepared and held him firmly. The fight went out of him almost instantly and John heard Sherlock whimpering through the mouthguard as the man reached up and rubbed the mitts against John’s arms as though to plead with him. Or perhaps to pet? Was this Sherlock thanking him? John worried about the reaction, as it hadn’t been anything he’d encountered with Amanda, but he had no way to determine why Sherlock was behaving this way. He waited, deciding he’d pull him up if he tapped out, but the man eventually stilled and fell silent. John watched as Sherlock slipped slowly under, twitching and thrashing occasionally, and waited for him to fully relax.

It took hours. The first time, though Sherlock had never been aware of it, had not been more than two hours before Sherlock had been ready to be pulled up. This time, however, took a full six. Sherlock lay in the water, making odd noises occasionally and sometimes suddenly and inexplicably fighting John. John, for his part, spent it talking soothingly to Sherlock even though the man couldn’t hear him. It wasn’t about reassuring Sherlock though- it was to reassure _John._

“I’ve got you, Sherlock. I won’t let that happen to you. I won’t let you fall again. I’ll catch you. I _have_ caught you. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll send you down and bring you back up again. I’ll keep you _safe_.”

Finally Sherlock’s body hit that peace that John recognized as completion and he gently tugged the man upright. He removed the inhibitors and waited for a response, but Sherlock was well and truly under and merely drifted straight into sleep. John knew he couldn’t lift Sherlock so he carefully pulled some towels off their rack and padded the tub. Then he climbed in behind Sherlock and rested his head against the wall to let his racing heart finally calm down.

Mycroft found them like that a few hours later. John woke to find the man sitting on their toilet staring at him with his brolly perched on the floor between his feet like a scepter.

“This isn’t as weird as it looks,” John informed him.

“My brother has no new needle marks on his arms,” Mycroft stated, “He is clothed, so I am certain you aren’t taking some sort of odd advantage of him. Whatever this-“ Here Mycroft tapped the motorcycle helmet, “-is, it is acceptable.”

John nodded at the statement, “So glad you approve.”

“However, I would like an explanation as to _what_ it is?”

“Sensory deprivation resulting in a dissociative state to mimic a chemical high and release the hormones associated with one,” Sherlock stated, his eyes still closed and his head resting on John’s shoulder, “A very effective method, actually.”

“They have tanks for that,” Mycroft stated blandly, “There’s no need for this… lunacy.”

“I _like_ the feel of John holding me down, thank you,” Sherlock stated, “It keeps me grounded.”

John worried at Sherlock’s over-disclosure there. It seemed a bit like he was talking without meaning to and John wanted Mycroft gone before he learned something he’d use against Sherlock later. He needn’t have worried, however, as Mycroft looked distinctly bored and stood to leave at once.

“Keep me posted, John,” Mycroft ordered before heading out the door and closing it to preserve the warmth.

John sighed and sagged against the tub again, “You okay?”

“Yes… thank you.”

“Any time. I mean that. It doesn’t have to be a crisis, you can ask for this whenever you need it.”

“I do need it. I may have just traded one addiction for another, John.”

“That’s fine. I’m here. I’ll do this daily if I have to. Anything to keep you clean. Anything to keep you alive.”

Sherlock turned in the tub, kneeling up and placing his forehead on the center of John’s chest, “Anything to keep me here?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, that’s… good. John.”

“Hm?”

Sherlock didn’t reply, he just climbed out of the tub and stripped off his wet clothes. He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed for his bedroom. John hurried after him, dripping on the floor, and stood in his doorway. Sherlock was selecting clothes, his movements hurried.

“If we leave now we might be able to get a look at her before Molly wraps up the body and sends it off. They won’t want to keep her around long with that level of insect infestation.”

“Right. I’ll change,” John replied, nodding and turning, but he hesitated rather than leave, “I want you to come with me upstairs when I change. I’ll wait here till you’re ready.”

“John!” Sherlock whined, “That will take _longer_!”

“Text Molly and tell her to hold off. She’ll do that for you. Your safety is more important than the Work.”

Sherlock stared at him as if he were mad, but did as he was told.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

WARNING: Discussion of rather sensitive mental health topics.  
  
Lestrade was worried about Sherlock and alternated between hovering over him and questioning John in the weeks that followed.

“Really, he’s fine,” John reassured, “We went through his therapy, he napped, Mycroft stopped by and glared at us both, business as usual.”

“My hubby stopped by? Gods, he’s going to kill me when he finds out I let Sherlock see that.”

“Surely he’s seen situations like that before?”

“Yeah, and gone on a bender afterwards. There are just some things an addict can never be around again. For Sherlock a prostitute or a drug OD is his weeknesses.”

John hesitated a moment, “Okay, I give. Why a prostitute?”

Lestrade winced, “Shit. Me and my big mouth. It’s not my place, you know?”

“We aren’t a couple, Greg, we’re just mates, but I need to be aware of what will set him off.”

Lestrade sighed, “I didn’t even want to bring him in on this. My department head made me. Sherlock is… was… he got desperate once. Just once as far as I know… according to him. The bastard nearly killed him.”

“Shit.”

“It’s what brought us together, actually. He was furious because we weren’t making any headway on his case and stormed Scotland Yard to tell us off. Not only did he point out what we’d missed in _his_ case, he corrected us on about a dozen that he’d seen in the papers from burglary to murder over the last month. Did it all in one fucking breath, too,” Lestrade chuckled and shook his head, “I was impressed but everyone else was instantly suspicious. Thought he was running a ring or something, or the son of someone running a ring. His family got inspected and that was how I met Mycroft.”

“Love at first sight?” John grinned.

“Hated each other’s guts. Lust at first sight, though. I’ve got a thing for posh bastards apparently, and Mycroft just loves to slum it,” Lestrade rolled his eyes, “My marriage stopped us getting together for years though, but you know that.”

John nodded. He’d heard the story over a beer once, how Mycroft had tried to convince Lestrade for _years_ to leave his cheating wife… or at least cheat on her back. Lestrade was an honorable man, though, and had refused to do either until it had become truly unbearable and even his daughter had told him to leave. Mycroft had once smiled softly and told John that Lestrade’s honorable intentions had only made him more desirable to him, and that finally having him had been worth the wait.

“I hope I have what you two do someday,” John smiled softly.

“You do,” Lestrade nudged him, “You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Nah,” John sighed shaking his head, “I’ve tried; really I have. I’m not just straight; I’m definitely _not gay_. I can’t get it up around him.”

“Sex isn’t everything. Lots of couples don’t have sex. Frankly, I doubt Sherlock is overly interested in it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he is either.”

“On another note: are _you_ okay?”

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“You seem… off.”

“Off?”

“Down a bit?” Lestrade gave him a worried look, “Is this treatment of Sherlock’s taking it out of you? You’ve been getting depressed off and on for a few weeks now. Ever since his last scare.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that. So what gives?”

John sighed, “I should probably tell Sherlock first. He’s probably listening in and I don’t want him to get the wrong impression.”

Lestrade nodded and left it at that. John _didn’t_ explain it to Sherlock though. Not until it got bad enough that _John_ needed an intervention as well.

XXXXXXXXXXX

John was depressed again, and nothing seemed to be alleviating it this time. Lestrade had taken him out three times, but he was just coming home drunk and depressed. According to the DI he’d also stopped attempting to pull women and had even turned down a few that approached him. Sherlock wanted to ease up on the amount of times he utilized John for his ‘treatments’ but the fact was that he was well and truly hooked on them. He couldn’t go longer than a week without approaching John in desperation, and when the man started noticing him withholding requests he simply tackled him and dragged him forcibly into the bathroom for a session; the result was an orgasm that left Sherlock gasping so desperately for air that John upgraded him to the mouth guard with a wider opening and it’s own special long pipe to keep  .him from choking on water. Eventually he’d started sleeping in Sherlock’s bed so he could make sure he didn’t need him at night. Sherlock didn’t mind, of course. It was perfectly innocent- a long body pillow between them keeping John from so much as touching him all night long- and even if the pillow hadn’t been there the fact remained that Sherlock trusted John implicitly now. Hell, he masturbated in front of him regularly.

So when John refused to tell him what was bothering him and kept denying that it _was_ the sessions when it obviously was, Sherlock finally had enough and called on Mycroft and Lestrade. They all sat John down and had an intervention reminiscent of Sherlock’s own drug interventions from years ago.

“Look, Mycroft explained to me what you’ve been doing with Sherlock,” Lestrade started, “I won’t pretend to understand it, but it’s _working_ , so I don’t really need to; what’s bothering us is the effect it’s having on _you.”_

“The sessions aren’t upsetting me,” John sighed, “It’s not like that at all. I’m _glad_ that I can help Sherlock. It’s a huge fucking relief to be honest.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Lestrade asked, “You’re as depressed as you were when he faked his death!”

“Worse, I’d say,” Mycroft intoned, “At least then you were dating.”

“I can’t date,” John shrugged.

“Aha! Erectile dysfunction!” Sherlock decided.

John and Mycroft both gave him a withering glare, “Nothing is wrong with his anatomy, Sherlock.”

“What he said,” John agreed, an annoyed look on his face.

“This is obviously some prior trauma, the only question is what?” Mycroft decided,

John squirmed uncomfortably and apparently decided to answer a different question, “I can’t date because Sherlock needs me. I’m pants at pulling women lately anyway. I’m too old and too invested with him.”

“So Sherlock _is_ the problem,” Mycroft stated.

“No, no that’s not what I meant. I’m the problem. I’m just… I’m done with the dating scene. Look, I’ll get over it. It’s just an adjustment for me… think of it as a midlife crisis or something.”

“Then your sessions with me have nothing to do with this?” Sherlock asked, eyes narrowed in doubt.

“No. They don’t. If they seem linked it’s because I’m wishing we had a physical relationship,” John replied, “I just can’t go there with you.”

“So I get off and you don’t,” Sherlock stated, chewing on his lip thoughtfully, “I can see how that would be bothersome.”

“Right, well, if that’s all cleared up…” John stood to leave but a raised eyebrow from Mycroft sent him back into his seat.

“Your depression needs a solution. It’s interfering with my brother’s life,” Mycroft frowned.

“Well, gods forbid my wishing I could crawl under a rock and die interferes with Sherlock’s experiments and crime solving,” John snarked.

The room dropped silent and John backpedaled quickly, “Not what it sounded like. I’m _not_ suicidal. Last thing on my mind. Sherlock _needs_ me.”

“But _your_ needs aren’t getting met,” Sherlock muttered, staring distractedly out the window.

“Well… no, but that’s not your problem.”

Sherlock’s eyes tracked back to John, “Yet my needs are your problem?”

“Well, someone’s got to take care of you,” John shrugged, “Might as well be me since Mycroft drives you nuts and Lestrade’s got Mycroft. Besides, I’m in love with you. Makes sense that it’s me.”

Sherlock blinked, “You _love_ me?”

“Well, duh,” Lestrade snorted.

“Obvious to the point of transparent,” Mycroft sighed as though disgusted with Sherlock’s blindness.

“But you’re _straight_ ,” Sherlock pointed out, “Annoyingly so.”

John shifted uncomfortably, “I am sorry about that, Sherlock. I’d change it if I could.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Sherlock replied with a look of disgust, “I don’t want you to. I’ve no interest in sex.”

“Well… good, then, we’re on the same page,” John shrugged, “So I take care of you and you basically provide all the rent money so that counts as taking care of me…”

“Not your more base needs, though,” Sherlock sighed, “John, you’ll just have to start dating again.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You must.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You obviously are, or you’d be less depressed.”

Mycroft broke in, “This is clearly only _one_ issue. You rather easily avoided my mention of past trauma. Now, I find it rather hard to believe that you witnessed someone drowning in Afghanistan, but sensory deprivation is a known torture technique. Was it applied to you? Is that where the gear you used came from?”

“No and no,” John replied.

“The gear is from his University days,” Sherlock mentioned, “The box it was originally in- which you didn’t see, Mycroft- was clearly from his final year in Uni.”

John dropped silent, his eyes going wide, and Sherlock whipped out his phone. John dove for it to stop him googling but Lestrade cut him off and Sherlock finished before John managed to untangle himself from Lestrade’s hold.

Sherlock spoke softly, “Amanda Briggs, 20, committed suicide in her dorm leaving a note that has officials even more baffled than the suicide of an apparently happy young woman. The note simply read: “Better me than you” and was written in watercolor paint across the sheet she hung herself with. Her fiancé John Watson, 24, found her on his way back from his last exam of the day and called in the suicide; they had separate rooms due to campus restrictions, but he had a key to hers and visited frequently. According to her closest friends, Briggs was very happy, succeeding in both academics and love. No one who knew her reported a known reason for her sudden suicide and Briggs tested clean of drugs. A search of her room likewise revealed nothing but wedding plans, indicating that Briggs’ decision to end her life was a sudden one rather than intended. The…”

“They were wrong,” John replied, and sunk down on the couch when Lestrade released him, “It was planned. She’d been planning it for bloody _years_ before I even met her.”

Sherlock looked up, his eyes a silent question.

“Mandy was a sociopath. A true one, Sherlock, not like you. She had these fantasies about killing people and she couldn’t stop them. I took all the evidence out of her room before the police got there, including the gear from our ‘sessions’.”

“You were using it to help her clear her mind when she got a craving to murder someone,” Sherlock spoke softly.

“Yeah, but I was selfish,” John sighed, running his hands over his face and leaning back on the sofa, “I got tired of it. I hated doing that to her and I hated the fact she needed it. I _loved her_. I really loved her, Sherlock, like the way I feel about you but… I don’t know, I can’t imagine feeling that way for anyone else ever again and I haven’t since. She was… despite what she fantasized about, she was a good person.”

“You ended the sessions?”

“Sort of. I told her to get professional help, that she shouldn’t be reliant on me doing _that_ to her... See she didn’t just want the sensory deprivation, not like you do. She used it as an outlet. When I held her down I did it forcefully. She would imagine I was murdering her and she got off on it. Literally. She had a vibrator inside her the whole time and afterwards we’d have sex, but… I didn’t live with her for a reason. The whole thing just made me feel filthy and even though I loved her it was coming between us. She wanted to switch it up and have _me_ in the gear so she could pretend she was killing _me!”_

“You didn’t trust her,” Mycroft stated sadly.

“I couldn’t. I asked her straight out if she thought she would go a step further and _really_ kill me, and she said she fantasized about it all the time. She started crying and told me that if I wanted to live I’d never let her get me into the gear. Ever. I told her to get help and stopped having sessions with her. She started seeing a therapist, and it seemed to be working: at least she gave me no indication it wasn’t. Then she just… hung herself.”

“Better me than you,” Sherlock sighed, “She killed herself instead of you. Had she ever killed anyone?”

John shook his head miserably, “No. She had fought it her whole life, from the time she was a little girl and her parents caught her killing animals and told her it was wrong. She didn’t _want_ to be a murderess. The sick part is that the second I saw her hanging there I wished it _had_ been me. I would have died a thousand times for her. I was destroyed, Sherlock. Completely destroyed. I joined the army the next day and shipped out. I just needed to get away.”

“You’re reliving it,” Lestrade sighed, “You want to help Sherlock, but every time you do you relive her death.”

John nodded miserably, “I even still have her other stuff- the evidence I hid from the police. All of it. It’s in a storage facility.”

Sherlock insisted on going so they all headed over and John unlocked the small storage locker and Sherlock and Lestrade stepped in to go through it.

“Fucking Hell!” Lestrade swore, looking through magazines, “She drew on these?”

“Yeah,” John nodded.

Sherlock looked through them as well. They were all magazines from decades ago, some of them dated back to when Briggs would have been a small girl. She had painted and drawn over them to make the people in the magazines appear dead, and all by obvious murder. As the dates on the magazines went up the cause of death became more focused. She’d picked a method. Drowning.

“She fantasized about her own death as much as others,” Sherlock noted, pulling out a photo album full of altered photographs of herself.

“Like I said, she got off on it,” John shrugged.

“Sherlock, look at this,” Lestrade pulled out a diorama.

John looked away, his face filled with shame, “I helped her make that.”

It was a murder scene. More specifically it was a very _detailed_ underwater murder scene depicting several people chained up and drowned, their hands all bound so they couldn’t save themselves. Their eyes were blindfolded, ears covered, and their mouths stuffed with gags… all accept one.

“You aren’t muffled,” Sherlock noted, plucking John’s figurine from the string it dangled on.

“She told me she wanted to be able to see my eyes when I died. She told me that during _sex.”_

“Fucking hell,” Lestrade sighed again.

“She was an artist,” Sherlock noted.

“A _brilliant_ artist,” John replied, his smile both sad and proud.

Sherlock pulled out a very carefully preserved portfolio and opened it to look through the drawings, “These aren’t dark like her porn collection is. These all appear to celebrate life. A ruse?”

“No,” John shook his head, “She was a complicated person. She loved to see things flourishing. She lived for nature walks. She just… wanted to kill them all, too.”

Sherlock closed the portfolio and stepped out of the storage locker. He stood before John with a considering look on his face.

“John, you need a session.”

John’s eyes widened and he took a step back, “I’m _not_ into sensory deprevation, Sherlock. Seriously, I’m not.”

“Not that sort of session.”

XXX

John stepped back, his mouth and nose covered with a rag to keep the fumes away from his lungs as much as possible. He put the kerosene container down a ways from the pile of Amanda’s things. Sherlock’s gear was in there, too. He’d insisted. They would buy new things, things that _didn’t_ remind him of Amanda.

Sherlock held out a box of matches and John took a deep breath before flicking one and tossing it onto the pile. It went out. John closed his eyes and steeled himself before lighting another and trying again. This one took and the pile went up alarmingly fast. Nearby, Lestrade stood with a friend of his who was a fire marshal. He’d agreed to make sure their little pyrotechnic display didn’t get out of hand, and he’d handle putting it out and disposing of the remaining mess.

John didn’t realize he was crying until Sherlock brushed a tear away. The man wasn’t comfortable with emotional desplays, though, and that was as far as he went in comforting John.

“I’ll be by the car when you’re ready,” Sherlock stated, and walked away.

John watched his past burn and wept for what little future he had.

XXX

“We don’t need a helmet for you,” Sherlock stated, “I never fight anymore.”

John agreed, “I might still get splashed. I think goggles are a good idea.”

Sherlock nodded agreement and they headed for the next isle of the sports store. Their trip to a fetish store had been short lived as it had turned out most of what they wanted didn’t exist. Apparently Amanda had _made_ most of the gear. So they headed to a regular store and were going to make a trip to a hardware store next. Sherlock was excited, talking about making everything a matching set.

“We’ll have to go to a boat store. They’ll have paint that won’t be destroyed under water.”

“Ahhh, about that? Maybe we could move it out of the bathroom. I mean, there are other ways to give you that floaty feeling, and the tub barely fits you. Plus it’s killing my knees.”

Sherlock nodded and put back the goggles he’d grabbed, “A suspension system, then.”

“Yeah, do you think the ceiling can handle it?”

“If not, I saw a sex swing at the last shop.”

A man passing by gave them a threatening look but John just mirrored it. He wasn’t about to be ashamed of something that gave Sherlock so much relief, especially since the self-proclaimed high functioning sociopath was making such efforts to have this work for them both. They paid for their purchases, but didn’t have a chance to buy the rest of their gear. The Yard had called them. After nearly a month of silence there’d been another murdered prostitute.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

“I don’t think Sherlock should be here,” John worried to Lestrade, “I haven’t got all the new gear assembled.”

“I’m sorry, John, but it wasn’t my call. My boss is freaking out. They’ve gotten a shit ton of bad press because of all this, thanks to Gregson being a tit and ignoring it for months just because the victims were street walkers.”

“Yeah, well…” John’s response was cut off by Sherlock flying away from the victim, past him, and down the hall, “Shit!”

John took off after him, glad he’d kept himself in shape, and quickly found Sherlock darting into a store and tearing through the racks. It was a women’s store and the clothing weren’t exactly business wear.

“What exactly are you doing,” John asked, worried he already knew.

“Going undercover.”

Yep. Exactly what he’d worried about. “As a prostitute?”

“Yes.”

“He only takes women.”

“And those particular types of women only talk to other whores, so if I want to interview them I have to become one of them.”

“A female prostitute.”

“Well, a she-male. I’m pretty, but I’m not _that_ pretty,” Sherlock smirked, and bolted for the register to ring up his purchases.

“No. Absolutely not,” John stated, stepping forward and tugging Sherlock’s card out of his hand before he could hand it to the confused and alarmed attendant.

“Excuse me?” Sherlock asked, turning on him with eyes that flashed angrily.

“No way. Not after what I heard from Lestrade. I’m not losing you again. Not to anything. We’ll find another way.”

Sherlock stared at John darkly for a moment and then turned sharply and stormed out of the building. John followed quickly, but the man had vanished into the crowd. John spent the evening getting Mycroft to search for him, but Sherlock didn’t turn up until nearly midnight and when he did he had a woman in tow.

[CHAPTER FOUR](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/93412.html)


	4. vincentmeoblinn | To provide for your needs Ch 4

John swallowed hard. The woman was gorgeous and dressed in _very_ scanty clothes, but she also looked rather posh so it took him a moment to realize what exactly she was. Sherlock had brought home a prostitute. A moment later a second one climbed the stairs and stood in the doorway. The first was a brunette and the second a blonde. The second also wasn’t dressed _quite_ as nicely and looked around twenty-five. The first was clearly in her forties despite being _very_ attractive.

“Here she is, Johnny,” Sherlock smiled, twittering exuberantly, “Well, here _they_ are. Apparently the murders have spurred them to pair off for safety sake. Have I done well, darling?”

John had to fight the urge to recoil as Sherlock stepped forward and slung his arms around John affectionately, pressing a kiss to his lips that involved absolutely no lip movement but probably looked quite racy from the prostitutes’ vantage point.

“Good, yeah, perfect,” John stated loudly enough for the women to hear once their lips separated, and then leaned in to whisper, “The fuck is this, Sherlock?”

“Play along,” Sherlock whispered back, then stepped backwards to indicate the woman, “This is Cheryl and that’s Janice, and they’re fully appraised of the situation. Ladies, our bedroom is this way.”

Janice bounced off but Cheryl followed them hesitantly, her eyes wary, and John hastened to reassure her.

“Don’t worry, we’re not those horrible people from the news. Honestly, I can’t imagine what someone has against a… er…”

“Lady of the Night?” Cheryl offered with a smirk.

“That works,” John laughed flirtatiously, “Now I’m worried _I’m_ in danger. I hope you don’t bite? Not a vampire, are you?”

“If I was, would you say no?” She teased, sitting down on their bed with a suggestive sway of her hips and crossing her legs prettily.

John swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry, “Nope.”

Sherlock pulled out his desk chair and sat on it, looking eager and almost bouncy, “Well, go on, John! You promised!”

“Right, promised. What did I promise again?” John asked, his voice cracking shamefully. It had been _far_ too long since he’d last touched a woman, let alone two gorgeous ones. The ladies giggled and leaned against each other suggestively, holding hands until John very much hoped this wasn’t just an interview.

“You promised you’d let me watch!” Sherlock pouted, “You know I _do_ so love to see you in action.”

“Right. Watch. Fantastic idea, that,” John breathed, and shrugged off his jumper, “I should warn you ladies I have a rather ugly scar. If you want I can leave my vest…”

“Oh, can we see it?” Janice cooed, looking excited. Cheryl smiled supportively and John grinned and chucked the vest off as well. He was half hard and their ooh’s and ahh’s were helping that along. When Cheryl stood up to run her tongue over the puckered bullet wound John moaned appreciatively.

Straight to business, then.

John had never had a threesome before, so he worried what he would do, but it turned out the ladies were very well organized. John found himself stripped and on his back with the women both straddling him. Janice was sliding a condom on and Cheryl was giving him the option to use a dental dam while eating her out.

“Or saran wrap,” She mentioned, “I _am_ clean, though.”

“The dam, please,” John decided, and she held it in place with both hands while John experimented with the flexibility and groaned eagerly as Janice slid down his cock and began an enthusiastic bounce.

The first thing John did was slow Janice down, one hand grasping her hip to control her speed so he could enjoy this thoroughly. The next was beginning to stroke Janice’s clit with his thumb while he eagerly devoured Cheryl through the thin rubber guard. The women were panting and keening in pleasure, and John was careful to make sure it wasn’t faked.

“ _Fascinating_ ,” Sherlock breathed, and John glanced sideways to see he’d moved his chair and was sitting beside them watching their every move, “Do you like them, John?”

John moaned his affirmative into Cheryl’s bits and she gasped and threw her head back, grinding her hips down on his face eagerly. Once John glanced sideways he caught Sherlock’s eyes and they stayed locked like that for a moment before Cheryl started coming and John was focused on enjoying the woman’s moans as she ground bucked on top of him. Janice had found a decent rhythm so he took that hand off her hip and explored the wonderful world of breasts for the first time in months. Gods, what a selection! Cheryl was full and large, her tits swaying above him gently as she rocked on his face; Janice’s were small enough to fill just the palm of his hand, but her nipples were gigantic and hard enough to cut glass.

When Janice came, her cries echoing in their room, John moaned and finally let himself go. The bliss of coming inside of a woman was unparalleled, and he shamelessly bucked up into her to milk his orgasm for all it was worth. Cheryl started on her second and John gave both her breasts a firm tease to keep her going. The woman collapsed onto the bed with a pleased sound and John rolled to pin Janice down beneath him.

“Don’t you go anywhere,” He ordered Cheryl with a grin, “I just have something to finish here.”

“Oh honey, that’s sweet, but you don’t have to-“ Janice started, but John was teasing her clit again and she was quickly distracted. He dove in to give those gorgeous nipples some proper attention, moaning at the lovely feel.

John heard Sherlock gasp a bit and glanced aside to find he’d pulled his cock out of his trousers and was clearly close to completion. He paused when John looked over, and gave him a slightly panicked look as if he’d been caught doing something he oughtn’t to.

“Like this, do you?” John teased with a grin, and gave Janice’s nipple a flick with his tongue. She toppled into a second orgasm and he worked her through it until she was a trembling mess beneath him, “So lovely.”

John climbed up to Cheryl again and cupped both of her full breasts and buried his face in them just because he could. Sherlock moaned and John grinned at the sound. So Sherlock liked breast action, did he? John pulled away and sat down at the head of the bed, he motioned for both women and they each straddled a thigh. John spent some leisurely minutes stroking, licking, nipping, nuzzling, and suckling their breasts until they were both breathing heavily. John kept his eyes on Sherlock, however, though he was _thoroughly_ enjoying the feel of those soft, hot orbs against his skin and in his mouth.

“John!” Sherlock cried out and tugged his shirt up just in time to avoid soiling it as he came across his chest and stomach.

John moaned appreciatively and leaned back to smile at Sherlock as the man slumped in the chair, clearly basking in the afterglow.

“That was lovely,” John whispered, not wanting to disturb Sherlock but needing the women to know they’d done more than help him get a leg off, “Really it was. You two are both beautiful.”

They smiled and gave him chaste kisses that somehow felt far more intimate than what they’d just done, before slipping away and asking to use his shower. John nodded and told them where it was and where the towels were kept. Once they had headed through the door he stood and made his way over to Sherlock, slipping the condom off and dropping it into the trash as he went. John hesitated to touch him a moment, wondering if Sherlock would find it obscene, then did so anyway. He stroked his hand through those wild curls and fisted the back of his hair to tilt his head up to look at John.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?” Sherlock’s eyes opened, the pupils still blown from his orgasm.

“You might want to talk to them _before_ they leave,” John grinned.

“What? Ah, yes, right you are,” Sherlock gave himself a shake and grabbed one of John’s shirts to wipe up his semen with. John rolled his eyes and let it go, grabbing his robe instead of arguing with the man’s revolting habits.

The women left the shower with surprising speed, dressed quickly, and headed into the den to ask for their payments.

“Here you are,” Sherlock smiled, “As agreed upon, and thank you _so_ much for indulging in our little fantasies.”

“Anytime,” Cheryl stated warmly, “You’ve got an amazingly talented boyfriend. Maybe next time you’ll join…”

Sherlock took a step back before Cheryl could caress him the way she’d intended and John was on his feet before he’d realized he’d intended to move. Sherlock’s expression never changed, still a polite smile, but the atmosphere was instantly tense.

“Ah, best not touch him, yeah? He’s got a thing about touching. No offense to you ladies, of course, he’s like this with everyone.”

“ _Every_ one?” Janice asked, giving Sherlock that ‘what a freak’ look that they were both so familiar with.

“Everyone,” Sherlock confirmed, “Now I want to make sure you ladies get home safely… or at least to your next destination. Let me call you a cab?”

“Oh, we couldn’t…” Janice stammered, glancing at the money in her hands in worry.

“I’ll pay,” Sherlock stated firmly, “I insist. With this _madman_ on the loose, one can’t be too careful.”

Sherlock called for a cab and they sat awkwardly on the couch to wait while Sherlock started carefully questioning them. They were soon chatting away easily and even accepted tea from John who had put the kettle on right before hopping in the shower. Sherlock was the embodiment of charming, and John smirked to see him working them so well. Eventually he would do or say something that wouldn’t fit and they might even become alarmed, but for now he was in ‘actor’ mode and would stay that way until he got what he wanted.

“Sorry, what was that last bit?” Sherlock suddenly asked, his smile vanishing like a breeze.

Both women stilled like deer caught in headlights.

“I-I…” Cheryl glanced at John nervously.

“He’s like this sometimes,” John smiled warmly, “You said something about your pimp?”

“Yeah… Charlie. I just… maybe we should go. Is our cab here yet?”

“Been and left,” Sherlock replied, his expression icy. The two women gave each other a frightened glance so John stepped in to handle Sherlock’s decline in persona.

“Darling,” John said smoothly, “I think your sugar has dropped, you’re doing that thing were you’re _terse_ with people.”

“Am I?” Sherlock glanced at him, “Perhaps something to eat would be best.”

“I’ll fetch you an apple, yeah?” John stood to do so and the women shifted as they tried to process what had just happened.

“John takes such good care of me,” Sherlock stated, his smile sliding back into place as he held out a hand for John to place the apple into.

“Oh?” Janice squeaked.

“Do your pimps do the same? I must admit I’ve been curious about it. My sole foray into prostitution as a teen nearly ended in catastrophe. Of course, I had no one looking out for me as you two lovely ladies do.”

“Yeah… yeah, Charlie is pretty good to us,” Janice stated, “Very _protective.”_

“That’s nice,” John smiled, dropping the apple into Sherlock’s outstretched hand when he returned to the den. He dropped into his own chair and smiled at them, “Does he make sure you get home okay, then?”

“Well… sometimes,” Cheryl admitted, “He has a _lot_ of girls and boys to see to.”

John frowned, “A lot? Geez, then he’ll have lost one or two what with this nutcase around.”

“Yeah, we all have,” Cheryl replied, her expression sad, “We knew Lolly. She was around the third girl killed… well the third the public knows about.”

Sherlock smiled like a shark and John made every effort to distract the women from seeing that predatory expression.

“The _public_ knows about? So there are _more_?”

“Of course there are,” Cheryl laughed, “You don’t think we go running to the coppers every time something goes wrong? Fact is they don’t like us much. Either they’ll roll their eyes and tell us if we want to be safe to stop whoring, or they’ll tell us to get down on our knees and _prove_ we want their protection.”

John frowned angrily, “Who does that last bit?”

“Oh, a fair few.”

“Yeah, but who specifically?”

“Are you reporters or those fellows who police the police?” Cheryl asked, her expression one of surety.

“Neither,” Sherlock answered, “I’m Sherlock Holmes and he’s John Watson. Surely you’ve heard of us.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect to actually _meet_ you,” Cheryl replied, “I thought this was just a lark, you living on Baker Street and calling each other that. Figured it was a game you played.”

“I assure you we’re the real deal,” John replied, “And we’re trying to get to the bottom of these serial killings. About the police who…”

“John, you can chivalrous for these ladies another time. The _murders_ are a hair more important than a few corrupt cops, wouldn’t you agree?”

“But what if we _know_ them,” John argued, “What if we’ve been working with them?”

“We _have_ ,” Sherlock snorted, “Anderson is one of them. Why do you think I detest that _weasel_?”

“Does Sally know?” John asked in horror.

“Why should I care? Now. About these other murders, I should like to see the scenes.”

The women hesitated and then Janice spoke up, “We can’t afford to pay you.”

“I can’t afford to miss out on those scenes, deteriorated though they may be. I suppose that puts us at an equal footing.”

Which was how they ended up spending the next two days completely sleepless as they went from one pimp in town to another, all by reference from Janice and Cheryl as these men and women were practically impossible to meet any other way. They explored the most repulsive parts of London, and some of the nicest as well when they had to knock on the door to a posh penthouse and fake their way in to get a look at the fellow’s bathroom.

Finally, John collapsed down on their couch, exhausted but glad that Sherlock was dealing so well, and tried to think if a shower was more important than sleep.

“I need a session,” Sherlock stated, tugging off his scarf and hanging it up.

“We never finished buying the stuff we need,” John worried, standing up and reigning in the last of his energy.

“I did. It’s all in our kit, which I’ve moved to the bedroom. We’ll have to do it without suspension though, as I haven’t had the time to have you set up the swing.”

Sherlock strolled for the bedroom and John scurried to follow.

“Sherlock, we should talk about something first.”

“And that something would be?” Sherlock asked as he stripped off his clothes and selected a silky pair of pajamas to enjoy the sensation of while he was ‘under’.

“About the prostitutes.”

“What about them?”

“Are you bothered?”

“By their deaths? John, we’ve been over this. Worrying or feeling bad about them won’t…”

“No, about me sleeping with them.”

Sherlock blinked at John, his expression the most confused John had ever seen it and the older man laughed.

“Never mind,” John chuckled, “Clearly I had the wrong impression. I thought you might get jealous, but you’re perfectly unable to process those sorts of emotions, aren’t you?”

“No,” Sherlock replied, turning his back on John evasively, “I’ve been jealous of your dates before.”

“Oh,” John worried, “Then Cheryl and Janice?”

“Different.”

“How so?”

“I picked them.”

“I see.”

“You… you have needs I can’t provide for, John. I should like to do so in my own way if that is acceptable to you.”

John crossed the room and stood behind Sherlock, keeping a careful foot of space between them. He wanted to hold him, comfort him, but he knew such actions would be unwelcome.

“If that’s what you want I’ll be fine with it. Just let me know if you want it to stop, even if it’s in the middle of something. Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now then. Where’s that kit?”

“Under the bed.” 

[CHAPTER FIVE](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/93528.html)


	5. vincentmeoblinn | To provide for your needs Ch 5

With the prostitution case wrapped up, John and Sherlock settled into their new ‘relationship’ with a night out on the town. Sherlock, as it turned out, enjoyed practicing his ‘normal face’ by pulling women for John. It became a rather fun situation for them both. Sherlock would pick someone he wanted to see John with, pull her for him, and then they’d have a few drinks together and head back to Baker Street where John would fuck her silly and Sherlock would watch and occasionally wank. When John worried about the times Sherlock _didn’t_ masturbate, the man just laughed it off and told him to stop being self-conscious.

Which was how John found himself with his face between a truly enormous pair of breasts, as he pumped frantically into the largest woman he’d ever gone to bed with. At first he’d been worried that he wouldn’t find her attractive, but the second his hands were on her that all fled out the window. Her chocolate skin was gorgeous and the soft flesh he pressed against was absolutely addictive. He’d brought her off several times before even entering her just because she’d seemed so shy and anxious. He wanted her to have a truly _magnificent_ encounter. Especially since Sherlock was off to one side practically drooling at the sight of them. John was wild with desire, overwhelmed at the feel of the soft woman below him, her girth practically surrounding him as he pressed into tight, wet heat. He felt devoured.

Then their bedroom door flew open and Lestrade gawped at them.

“Go away,” Sherlock stated, hand on cock never stilling while John and the lovely Ms. Nikki stared at the DI in frozen horror.

“The fuck is going on here?” Lestrade gaped.

“Sex. Get out. You’re killing the mood,” Sherlock growled, and then reached out and gave John’s rump a slap, “Keep going.”

Lestrade slammed the door shut and John gave Nikki a grin; they both giggled and he took her faster and harder just to distract them both. She was a positively gorgeous pile of gasping flesh by the time John groaned out his climax into the condom. While Nikki showered, John lay on the bed and wallowed in the afterglow. He had no intention of going out to face an interrogation by Lestrade, but Sherlock as usual enjoyed the verbal repartee and headed out with a wicked grin on his face. The bastard was wearing the same clothes and there was a spot of cum on the shirt, which John was _positive_ the ridiculously attentive man was aware of.

John could hear their argument from the bedroom, but he just chuckled at the whole thing until a newspaper article was mentioned.

XXX

“You need help, Sherlock. Seriously,” Lestrade started off.

“Oh? I was managing quite well on my own, but thank you for your concern.”

“Do you know why I came over here?”

“Case, I hope?”

“No. No, not a case. You haven’t seen the morning paper, have you?”

“John and I were out all night trying to woo the lovely Miss Nikki. I’m thinking of having him try anal next, what do you think?”

“I think you’re fucking stupid!” Lestrade snapped, and picked up the paper from where he’d tossed it on their coffee table, “Look at this! You made the bloody front page! Again!!”

“So? I don’t see… oh.”

Sherlock studied the image in front of him. It was himself and John, with Sherlock flirting shamelessly with a woman from a week ago while John stared longingly at him. Of course, the longing wasn’t for Sherlock’s body. They’d already covered that. John adored Sherlock in a way that had nothing to do with such base desires as sex.

“What a lovely picture, I should have this framed,” Sherlock decided, “John’s face is…”

“About to be between that woman’s tits? Yeah, I noticed,” Lestrade scoffed.

Sherlock snorted and read the headline finally.

**FAMOUS BOFFIN A PLAYBOY?  
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson use fame to lure women in for night of debauchery!**

“Well, this should make getting John laid rather easy, don’t you agree?” Sherlock chuckled.

“No, it won’t. It will make it _harder_ , because women don’t like being known as sluts. Men don’t either, so you better brace yourself for the fallout. John isn’t going to like this.”

“He isn’t?” Sherlock blinked, “I was under the impression that men liked to brag about their conquests.”

“Gentlemen like John _don’t_ , not to the _public_. They treat women with respect and they have _relationships_ , which is why I can’t figure out how you managed to get John to go along with this. Even when he’s gone in for one-offs he’s tried to make it work after. So how did you manage to do it, Sherlock?”

“What, corrupt him?” Sherlock snorted, “John provides for my needs, and I provide for his. He lacks the confidence to pull women anymore, and I have a talent for it. His depression has _stopped._ For the record, we have an entire list of favorites that we go back to regularly. So in a way he _is_ …”

“That’s not a bloody relationship Sherlock! That’s a Little Black Book!”

“Well we don’t have them _written down_ …”

“You machine!” Lestrade threw his arms up in frustration.

John wandered in at that moment, hair wet from a quick shower and sporting Sherlock’s best dressing gown, which he’d taken to wearing every once in a while- usually after sex. Sherlock theorized it had to do with being close to Sherlock in a way that didn’t cross the imaginary line they had between them.

“What’s all this then about being public?” John asked, and picked up the paper, “Oh. Well. Isn’t that just a bit embarrassing? Lestrade, would you mind stepping out? Nikki wants to leave _without_ doing the walk of shame, yeah?”

Lestrade threw his arms up again and left completely, and Sherlock smiled as he watched John do his farewell dance with the Rubenesque woman of the evening. John pressed little kisses to her lips and smiled into her eyes, making her feel ‘special’. That was how Sherlock knew he wanted to see those women again, though Sherlock hadn’t been at all certain John would like this particular figure. Now he could add BBW to his mental list of what drove John wild. He’d been practically ravenous the moment he’d laid hands on her. John had teased Sherlock that the consulting detective was turning him into a nymphomaniac.

_“I’ve never had so much sex in my life, Sherlock. Not even in Uni. Not with this many women, either. I almost feel wicked.”_

John tossed himself into his chair and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the rest and sighing contentedly.

“Feel good?” Sherlock asked.

“Feel fantastic, you?”

“Quite. You were lovely this morning.”

“Mmm, so were you. You aren’t usually that enthusiastic… and _she_ was lovely. Had no idea I liked them big. You’ve introduced me to so much, Sherlock. It’s a bit wild, really. Do you think the article will be a problem?”

“Lestrade thinks it will make pulling women more difficult.”

“Yeah, probably. We should maybe limit this to once a week and go out of town. What do you think?”

“The opposite, actually,” Sherlock smiled.

“What, you want to start doing this nightly and open a club in 221C?” John snorted, “Have them come to us? We can call it _Club Holmesex_.”

Sherlock snorted, “ _Watson’s Wenches_.”

“ _Sherlocked.”_

“ _Three Continents Watson.”_

“ _Deduce Me Like One of Your French Girls.”_

_“The Love Doctor.”_

_“The Consulting Hedonist.”_

“I love you.”

John blinked and Sherlock all but held his breath, “Well, I… you know I feel the same. I’ve said so before.”

“Not _to me_.”

“Right. Good. Well then. Yeah,” John sat forward in the chair, all seriousness, “I do. I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“I want you to be _happy_ , John. Not just satisfied.”

“Same to you.”

“Oh, I am. As happy as someone like myself can be. I have the Work, you, regular sexual release, and our sessions. All of my needs are met.”

“But?” John asked.

“Yours are not.”

“I’m not twenty anymore, Sherlock!” John laughed, “I can’t do this _that_ often!”

Sherlock looked away, his mind racing ahead to plan out a way to make sure John was completely happy. That was the only way to make sure this didn’t end, because Lestrade was right: they couldn’t keep on like this. Eventually John would get too attached, or become too jaded, or just start to be corrupted and change because of their activities. Sherlock didn’t want him to change. He liked John just as he was: his faithful blogger and careful keeper. Loyal to the point of damaging himself, which was why Sherlock had to make sure John _didn’t_ damage himself. He’d been willing to stay with a woman who had threatened his life. Sherlock had to make sure that he was never such a blatant danger to John Watson- not physically or otherwise- but he was incapable of the physical and emotional intimacy that the man needed to be truly happy. That would eventually take a toll.

_I’ll just have to enlist outside help._

XXXXXXXXXX

They’d kept up their club hopping, despite Sherlock’s insistence it would have to stop. Lestrade had not been 100% correct about the effect of the article. More women threw themselves at John and Sherlock, but Sherlock was a good deal pickier on which he let John take home. There were several times John was ready to completely revolt when a truly gorgeous woman was sent packing with a scathing remark about her person to really get her moving. However, John had to admit that every time he rolled into bed with someone it was without an ounce of regret. Sherlock might not have chosen the most beautiful woman in the bar, but he did chose those most interested in having truly satisfying sex. John even found a few new kinks because of his choices, and when in doubt they would head home and relax with a movie instead. Or call one of Sherlock’s favorites. Nikki made an appearance more than once, despite her rather bad introduction to them. John adored her figure more every time he was with her until Sherlock jokingly told him that he was a few praises away from worshiping her. John had nearly panicked at that, worried Sherlock was jealous, but he’d brushed his concerns aside.

“It’s good for her. She’s spent her whole life having meaningless sex with men who couldn’t care less about her pleasure because of her insecurities about her weight. It’s led her to believe she has to have it with whoever offers because it might never happen again.*”

“But she’s _gorgeous_ ,” John insisted.

“But you didn’t think so at first, did you?”

John thought on that and then got Nikki’s number from Sherlock and spent some time talking to her on the phone. It seemed they would become friends as well, which didn’t bother Sherlock since Nikki was an undemanding woman. She had a six year old son at home and refused to bring men home who might be a bad influence on him- John definitely qualified as he was practically married to Sherlock. Sherlock, of course, scoffed when John mentioned the ‘practically married’ aspect.

“We can’t be married, John, you like women too much and I like murders even more.”

“Marriage isn’t about sex,” John insisted, and then bit his cheek. _What am I doing? Proposing to him? He’s married to his work. He’s said so often enough._

Then the day came when John returned from his stint at the clinic and found Sherlock sitting and having tea with a very lovely Russian woman and a portly Englishman in a brown suit. The woman stood, giving John a brilliant smile and looking hopeful.

“Hello,” John smiled, extending a hand, “John Watson.”

“It’s such a pleasure,” The woman replied, not quite gushing, “Sherlock’s told me so much about you.”

“Has he?” John smiled warmly. She was lovely, a large wave of blonde hair framing a youthful, but mature, face. She had mid-sized breasts and curvy hips.

Sherlock stood, a proud smile on his face, “John, this is Nataliya. She’s only here for the evening, but I’m hoping to move things along after that.”

“Along for… what?” John asked.

“Your marriage, of course,” Sherlock beamed, “Nataliya is a mail order bride. _Your_ mail order bride!”

[Nataliya](http://eychloii.tumblr.com/post/65627883999/to-provide-for-your-needs-a-johnlock-poly-story)

from this sight: <http://elenasmodels.com>  
  
*This is a paraphrase from a blog a woman wrote about Plus Sized Selfies. I can not provide the link due to privacy issues, but I wanted to include it because that statement really hit home for me.

[CHAPTER SIX](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/93821.html)


	6. vincentmeoblinn | to provide for your needs ch 6

John, to his credit, didn’t flip the fuck out. He didn’t laugh hysterically, run in the opposite direction, or throw the temper to end all tantrums. He just very calmly asked if he could speak to Sherlock in their bedroom.

“Sherlock… you can’t buy me a bride.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t Christmas!” John snapped, “Why do you think not?”

Sherlock gave him that deadpan look that meant he was utterly at a loss for why John was upset but didn’t want to admit it. John sighed and decided to talk _very slowly_ until the madman got it.

“Sherlock, what we’ve been doing is nice. If you want someone steady, pick me a girlfriend. I’ll work with that, but you can’t _buy me a bride_. That’s pretty damn permanent. She’ll be relying on us to get her citizenship, which means you can’t just toss her out when she annoys you.”

“That’s the beauty of it, John, she _won’t_ annoy me. I picked her for us both!”

John blinked, “Both?” _Oh, gods, I’m getting hard. I want to see him fucking her. Hard. Fast. Slow. Gentle. Anything. Is that gay? It might be. Shit. Okay. I can work with this. Wait, he’s talking. How long has he been talking?_

“John? Are you listening?”

“No. No, I’m pretty sure I just shorted a circuit, could you run that past me again?”

“I _said_ , I searched several databases and interviewed over a hundred women before choosing Nataliya. She has your loyalty and an intellect that is at least _close_ to mine. She has few annoying habits, is financially independent, is unopposed to having two husbands for the price of one, and is fluent in three languages.”

“If she’s so smart why is she a mail order bride?” John asked automatically, for once letting his mouth run.

“Because she wants to leave Russia,” Sherlock snorted, “And that is the most expedient route. With marriage to an English citizen she can become one herself in three years instead of five. Also, she wants to be married but has no interest in children, which is perfect for us. She is also a bit of a fan, but not one of those obnoxious ones. She also isn’t opposed to us having an open relationship, provided all members use protection. Since you and I don’t have sex with each other, that negates that issue unless you wish to pull other women as well. Frankly, I suggest sticking with Nataliya only. I agree with Lestrade; I don’t think you’re meant for these one-offs we’ve been having. Which brings me to another point- bareback.”

“Bareback,” John repeated.

“To go without use of a condom?” Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed with John for not cottoning on quickly enough, “If you and Nataliya are each other’s sole partners and she is taking birth control there is no need for a prophylactic. She’s been tested, of course.”

John’s brain whited out again. He’d gone bareback all of once in his life and it had been a truly wonderful experience which he’d always wanted to have again, but being a doctor made one a bit paranoid when it came to using protection.

Sherlock gave John’s shoulders a shake, “John? Snap out of it. Come on now, you’ve always said you’d like to marry some day. I’ve found you the perfect bride! Surely you’re _happy_?”

“I… I… don’t I get to date her even once?” John asked, surprised at the whine in his voice. _What am I complaining about? I hate dating! It’s so awkward and expensive!_

“Well, yes,” Sherlock stated, cutting into John’s thoughts, “That’s what today is about. In order for her application for a Fiance’s License she has to have met you at least once in person. We’re all going out tonight, and Wilf out there is our witness. Then we’ll marry as soon as the license goes through.”

“Oh. Right. Okay. I’ll just go change then?”

Sherlock nodded and left John to it. John tossed three outfits on the bed; agonized over them, and finally picked the one he knew Sherlock would find the least offensive. He emerged after donning a splash of Sherlock’s cologne just because he felt he needed to smell the man to keep himself going strong. Women had a way of destroying the strong soldier persona he usually had.

“Alright, then, where to tonight?” John asked cheerfully as he stepped out of their room.

John gave Nataliya a more appraising look now that he knew she wasn’t just a quick fuck. She was wearing a dark blue sleek dress, knee high matching boots, and carried a plain white purse. Her makeup was visible, but not gaudy. Her eyes were ice blue, and quite lovely. John could see laugh lines around her mouth and eyes, and rather liked them immediately. John extended his arm and she stood to take it with a warm smile. He was about to head out the door when Sherlock looked up from his phone with a huge grin.

“Good news! Mycroft’s agreed to push this through. We can marry tonight?”

“Tonight?” John asked.

“Wilf, you’ll be getting a call soon,” Sherlock stated when the man began to protest.

Sure enough Wilf’s phone rang and he stepped into the hall to take it with a baffled look on his face. The rest of them were left standing about in their best clothes looking awkward.

“Sherlock, she might want family or friends to be here,” John started to protest.

“Not really, but thank you for the consideration,” Nataliya spoke up, “I don’t have anyone. My best friend died in a car crash a year ago. She’s sort of what spurred this on.”

John gave his condolences and gestured for them to sit down together while Sherlock started printing things out, probably for their wedding.

“So, what do you do besides look for husbands online?” John asked, smiling teasingly.

“I’m an accountant, actually,” Nataliya smiled back, “I own my own business, which I’m planning on selling, so I can pay my whole way here. Sadly, I’ve been so devoted to my work I haven’t dated in years. I decided my clock was ticking and I’ve always loved England, so this seemed a fantastic option.”

“Not to be rude, but some would say this was… degrading,” John stated hesitantly.

“Some would. Others wouldn’t,” She shrugged with a small smile.

John decided at the very least he liked her, but that was hardly enough to marry the woman within half an hour of meeting her.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” John asked, and dragged Sherlock into the bedroom again.

“She’s going to think you don’t like her,” Sherlock frowned at him.

“I do, but _marriage?_ ” John sighed, “Look, just give me her list.”

“Her list?”

“Her deduction list. You know: smoked since twelve, secretly likes women, has bulimia. That list.”

Sherlock gaped at him, “You got that information _where?_ I saw no indication of any of those things.”

“No, I just meant them as examples. Just give me her list, okay?”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, “Fine.”

Then he walked back into the den and John followed in horror, realizing Sherlock meant to deduce her _to her face_ rather than in the bedroom.

“Ah, Sherlock, I meant…”

“Hairs at the ankles belonging to a small grey dog of mixed breed,” Sherlock began, “Her profile mentioned a pet and that leaving it behind was not possible, so I was mostly aware of that. Keychain has the name “Toby” on it, since we already know she has no family or close friends it stands to reason that Toby is her dog. No rings, might be a preference for no jewelry but we already see she’s wearing a necklace, so it is more likely a ‘look I’m single!’ statement. Make-up is light but still showing, which proves her statement that she rarely dates as she would be more adept at disguising the fact she wears make-up at all if she did so. The fact she felt the need to put it on at all when she doesn’t usually wear it, even for work, shows that she is sensitive about her age. Dyed blonde hair. Eyes are natural. Prefers adding machine to a calculator at work. Suffered from a severe illness about six years ago, which further stymied her dating life. Had breast augmentation done…”

“Sherlock!” John snapped, but a flicker of a smile on her lips caught both their attention.

“No!” Sherlock replied in surprise, “Weren’t you going to mention you were a breast cancer survivor before we married?”

“I was waiting for you to figure it out,” Nataliya replied with a grin, “What fun would it be if I told you everything _detective_?”

Sherlock gave her an appraising look that spoke of approval and John… John was smitten.

“Well, that does pose a problem,” Sherlock stated with a sigh, “For both myself and John. John has already lost a girlfriend and I won’t have another dying on him. I’ll need to see your medical records. I’ll text Mycroft… also, we’ll need to see your breasts.”

“Sherlock!” John gaped.

“What if they’re hideously disfigured from the surgery?” Sherlock asked.

“There’s more to a woman than tits!” John snapped.

“But they’re your _favorite part,”_ Sherlock pointed out.

“Oh, I hope he likes others, too!” Nataliya laughed, and John turned to her to apologize and simply stopped to gape.

Nataliya had slid her dress off her shoulders and lowered her bra. She stood with one arm under her breasts to support them, but when they looked over she let them simply hang free. They were perfect. Completely perfect. Fake, sure, but such a good fake that only Sherlock would have noticed even when fully revealed.

“I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours,” Nataliya smiled.

“Ahhh, don’t you think you should call your fiancée by his first name?” John flirted while trying to process her request.

“She means your scar,” Sherlock snorted.

“Oh!” John unbuttoned his shirt and looked away while she gazed at it, “It… er… goes round the back.”

“It’s not so bad,” Nataliya stated, “I was worried it would be much worse. Not that I couldn’t have gotten over that, mind, or I’d have asked for photos before coming over here. Looks aren’t that important to me.”

“They aren’t as important to me as he’s making out, either,” John stated firmly.

“Yes they are,” Sherlock replied, “You’re rather shallow about women, John.”

“Thanks for that,” John sighed, “You really are lovely, Nataliya.”

“Well, thank you. While he’s right that I am a bit self conscious about my age, I like to think I’m attractive despite it. Now you, Sherlock.”

“Pardon?” Sherlock blinked.

“We’ve shown off our worse features, now it’s your turn,” Nataliya insisted, sliding her bra and dress back up to John’s sorrow.

Sherlock blinked, “You’ve already seen it.”

“I have?” Nataliya asked.

“Yes, my worse feature is my mouth, or what comes out of it. In my defense it’s also my _best_ feature.”

“It really is,” John nodded, and then winced because it wasn’t nearly as helpful sounding outside of his head.

Sherlock checked his phone and nodded sagely, “Her medical records look decent. She has no history of cancer in her family. Six years in remission is a good sign. What do you think John, risk it? I can always go back to the websites and…”

Wilf walked in and gave John’s half-dressed state a look of alarm.

“Oh, sorry!” John stammered, buttoning up his shirt, “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“We were just playing ‘you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’,” Nataliya supplied helpfully.

“Oh, gods, it’s like you’ve found another you,” John muttered.

“My I.Q. is ten points higher than hers!” Sherlock snapped.

“My tits are bigger,” Nataliya countered with a grin.

“I’ve solved over _a hundred_ cases! Twenty of them murders and five of them serial murders!”

“I can save you hundreds of pounds on your taxes.”

“Who needs to pay taxes when your brother is the British Government!”

“Who wants that looking over your shoulder?”

“I’m quite adept at eluding him, aren’t I John? John! Tell her I elude him!”

“Ahhh, he eludes him,” John put in with a grin, “Quite frequently, actually.”

“See!” Sherlock demanded.

“Sherlock, you’re already arguing with her,” John sighed, “Do you really think…”

“Stay out of this, John,” Sherlock snapped, “Her I.Q. is _twelve_ points higher than yours, so I think she can speak for herself.”

“Thank you!” Nataliya laughed.

“I can play violin at a master level,” Sherlock flaunted.

“I paint. Exquisitely.”

“So do I.”

“No you don’t,” John offered unhelpfully.

“I made that,” Sherlock pointed to the skull painting near their doorway.

“It’s hideous,” John and Nataliya both supplied.

“It’s art!” Sherlock snapped, “It’s subjective!”

“I can cook,” Nataliya replied.

“John makes a perfect cup of tea!” Sherlock snapped back.

“I thought these were _our_ accomplishments?” Nataliya laughed merrily.

“John is mine, his accomplishments _are_ mine,” Sherlock insisted.

“Well then, John can make a perfect cup of tea,” Nataliya stated in apparent reply.

“That’s what I just said,” Sherlock stated.

“And I’m saying it, too.”

“Yes, but John is _mine_ not _yours.”_

“He’s about to become my husband, his accomplishments _will_ be mine. Can you handle that?”

Silence.

Nataliya folded her arms and raised her chin in clear challenge.

John waited for Sherlock to _really_ get nasty, but it didn’t happen.

More silence.

Sherlock was studying her as if she were a specimen, then turned that look on John who swallowed convulsively. Wilf looked as though he’d rather be _anywhere_ else.

“No,” Sherlock stated, “No, I can’t and I won’t. Understand this now; he’ll never be yours. You might be his at some point, but he’ll never be yours. He is mine completely. Can _you_ handle that?”

Nataliya looked between them both and smiled, “Yes. Yes I can. If you can understand that I’ll still be my own. I’ve been alone too long to belong to someone else completely.”

“Well then, let’s get married, shall we?” John asked.

[CHAPTER SEVEN](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/111523.html)


	7. vincentmeoblinn | To Provide for your needs Ch 7

It wasn’t so much a wedding as a pile of papers which they signed after Mycroft showed up and made everything official for Wilf. Before John quite knew what was happening he was muttering apologies to the flustered official, shaking his hand, and seeing him out the door. Then he was back upstairs where Sherlock and his new wife were… missing?

“Bathroom,” Mycroft droned from his spot by the window, “I realize women generally go to the facilities together, but I have never heard of gay men using them _with_ women.”

John rolled his eyes and wandered back to where Sherlock was explaining to her all of his little quirks while fussily clearing a spot for her.

“This is her shelf, John,” Sherlock stated, pointing to the one between his own and the bottom of the medicine cabinet.

“Lucky you,” John snorted, “It took me months to get my own shelf.”

“I have been informed that women require more space in the bathroom than men do,” Sherlock informed John as though he were the one more familiar with the fairer sex.

“I’ve had my tubes tied, by the way,” Nataliya informed John with a smile, “So once we’re all tested we won’t need to use profilactics… unless you lot are going to keep bringing women home, that is.”

“No, we’re done that,” Sherlock stated firmly, “John requires a stable relationship to be truly happy.”

“His happiness is really important to you, isn’t it?” Nataliya asked, placing her thing on the shelf.

“Yes,” Sherlock stated firmly, “And it will be important to you as well.”

“Oh, yes, obviously,” Nataliya smiled at Sherlock as though he were a child with special needs who required indulging. John was well and truly smitten with her. Not in love, no. He doubted he’d ever feel that for anyone besides Sherlock, but the woman had a certain charm about her, “My room will be the one upstairs?”

“Ah…” John stammered, “I’ll have to clean it out. I haven’t been sleeping in it, but all my stuff is still there.”

“Not a problem. All my stuff is still in Russia. I’ll have to fly back and get it organized; I was only prepared to stay one night anyway. I was planning on selling most of it, but I won’t have the time now so I’ll just find homes for it or donate it. I mustn’t neglect my new husband!”

“You’ll stay in our bed tonight,” Sherlock informed Nataliya when she turned to take her suitcase upstairs, “John will be wanting sex and I’d like to see you two together; sexual bonding should speed up your relationship rather nicely. Also, I believe you expressed a concern over our ‘sessions’? I am in need of one tonight, so you might as well watch.”

“Ah, yes,” Nataliya replied, looking worried, “Is it very violent?”

“Not usually, no,” John replied when Sherlock ignored her and headed for the bedroom, “Sometimes he gets anxious and fights me, but it hasn’t happened in a while. I don’t even bother with a helmet anymore.”

“And is he… does he get hurt?”

“Oh, gods, no, I’d never hurt him,” John insisted, shaking his head, “I’m… ahh… the thing is I’ve never done this with an audience. I’m worried how we’ll both react. Would you mind staying completely silent and out of my line of sight?”

“No problem,” Nataliya smiled softly and followed John to the bedroom.

Sherlock was sitting in his [sex swing](http://image.dhgate.com/albu_278999918_00/1.0x0.jpg), rocking back and forth and grinning like a fool. He loved his sessions and now looked forward to them with the exuberance he showed cases. John pulled out the box and went through the routine of prepping their session. Sherlock watched happily until John nodded to him and then stood to strip his clothes off.

“You are off limits, yes?” Nataliya asked Sherlock.

“Quite,” Sherlock nodded.

“You two are… you are… what is word?”

“Platonic,” John informed her. She was so fluent in English that this was the first time he’d noticed an issue besides her rather soft accent.

“Yes, platonic, then why is he removing his clothes? Not that I’m bothered…”

“Sherlock sometimes gets aroused,” John answered when Sherlock avoided looking at either of them and re-settled himself on the swing, “He’ll take care of his needs himself if that happens. Sometimes he masturbates while watching me have sex, too. Will that be a problem?”

“Oh, no, I’m an exhibitionist,” Nataliya repied, “He made sure of it. I’m not much of a voyeur, though, so I hope you don’t mind if I stay clothed.”

“I’d prefer it,” Sherlock replied, “You are here to _observe_. These sessions are between John and I only. They aren’t sexual. The climax I occasionally achieve is purely a release of tension.”

“My apologies,” Nataliya replied, nodding respectfully, “I won’t mistake them again.”

Sherlock paused to watch her for a moment and then glanced at John, “Sarcasm?”

“No, she’s being sincere.”

“Oh. Good.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and John started on the blindfold. Sherlock leaned into his hand a bit, swaying on the swing, as he enjoyed the innocent touch of John’s hand in his hair as the doctor secured the simple sleep mask. They’d debated over getting a full head mask that would cancel out everything, but Sherlock and John both cherished the routine of strapping him in and decided they’d miss it. Next was the menthol lotion beneath his nose to cancel out scent. They’d experimented with this a bit, trying diluted bits of John’s cologne or deodorant, but Sherlock had gotten headaches from them that had disrupted him quite a bit; this was the safest bet.

Next were the ear plugs and the sound canceling earmuffs, and Sherlock sighed happily as more and more ‘data’ was shut off, allowing his mind to drift without the overwhelming sensory input that drove his genius brain mad. Sherlock had his hands out most of the time, in case he needed to masturbate, but his legs were held up in the sex swing as John gently fastened him in and then tilted him back. He took a moment to make sure all the straps were safely adjusted; they’d added some on, but they were only Velcro and meant to give Sherlock a more secure feeling rather than really hold him down.

Finally Sherlock’s mouth was secured via a small ball gag. The purpose of this was really to keep him from talking as they’d discovered quickly that he’d micromanage his sessions if allowed to. John gently stroked Sherlock’s sides, giving him the security of knowing he was present for a moment, before giving the swing a gentle push. He kept his hands on Sherlock- one on a shoulder and the other on his forehead- and guided the swing in a rhythmic motion. Sherlock shuddered a few times, made a growling sound at about half an hour in that John worried would turn to fighting, and then quite suddenly relaxed. John sighed happily as the man went completely limp.

“This is where he needs to be,” John explained for Nataliya’s benefit, though he’d only just recalled she was in the room, “He’s in a sort of peaceful place now. He calls it dissociating.”

“It helps him feel ‘high’ so he doesn’t have to use?” Nataliya asked softly.

“Right. He can’t here us, by the way. I tested it. We can shout or fire a gun and he’ll be oblivious.”

“We could have sex and he’d miss it,” Nataliya snickered, “We’ll have to remember that if you ever get tired of him watching.”

“Oh, I doubt I will. There’s something… it’s just… I can’t explain it.”

“Exhibitionist, remember? I get the kink, dear.”

“It’s not a kink, though, it’s sort of… it’s like we’re making love with our eyes.”

“Oh!” Nataliya exclaimed, her voice reverent, “That’s lovely.”

“I guess,” John shrugged, embarrassed, “Besides, I couldn’t let myself get distracted from him when he’s like this. He needs me focused. Too much could go wrong.”

Nataliya nodded and John smiled, relieved that she was so understanding about their bizarre relationship. Possibly she’d had even stranger ones since she was into exhibitionism. No time like the present to ask.

“Have you had that before? What I have with Sherlock?”

“Eye sex?”

“If you like,” John shrugged, still rocking Sherlock gently and paying more attention to him than her.

“I don’t think anyone’s had what you do, from what Sherlock’s described to me,” Nataliya replied, “I’ll admit to being just a bit jealous. I hope I don’t get in the way, but from what he’s told me he feared the relationship would turn toxic if a steady woman weren’t in your lives.”

“Most likely, yeah,” John nodded, “I wasn’t expecting _this_ , though. We’ll have to be on our toes. Sherlock isn’t easy to live with at the best of times, and in a poly relationship? _Gods!_ ”

Sherlock took that moment to shift and moan a bit, sucking at the ball gag and shifting his hips. John glanced down to see his cock had hardened. He pulled Sherlock’s arm out of a stirrup and guided it to his hip. He might not want to actually wank, but John wanted him able to if he needed it. Sherlock gave himself a few half-hearted strokes and then left off and relaxed again. After about ten minutes his erection flagged and John felt him settle into the next level.

“Time to bring him up,” John stated softly, “I’ll need your silence for this part.”

Nataliya nodded and stepped back again, leaning against the chest of drawers. John set about slowly removing the gear, working his way backwards again and gently stroking Sherlocks face and hair as he did so. Once Sherlock was free of everything except the swing John walked behind him and pulled up the desk chair. He sat in it and draped his arms around Sherlock’s neck, laying his head on top of the man’s curly mop.

“Mmmm,” Sherlock decided.

John smiled, “Yeah?”

“Mm-hm.”

John glanced as where Nataliya was smirking and gave her a wink.

“You sure?” John asked.

“Mm-hm,” Sherlock replied, eyes still sleepily closed.

John snickered, “Come on, sleeping beauty. Wake up. Bedtime.”

“M’not tired.”

“Yeah you are.”

“Yeah I am.”

John helped Sherlock rise and half-dragged, half-carried him to the bed. He tossed him in and covered him up, watching the man sigh and snuggle down comfortably.

“Here’s a bit of a problem,” John sighed, “Sherlock’s not a snuggler, but I do stay with him in this bed. Normally that big pillow is between us, but there isn’t room for the pillow, you, me, and His Prickliness.”

“Should I go upstairs?” Nataliya whispered cautiously.

“No, he specified you’d stay here. He knows I like morning sex so he’s probably gearing for that. Will that be a problem? If you’re not ready I’ll talk to…”

“Goodness, no,” Nataliya laughed softly, “I haven’t been with a man in years, I was ready to hop in that swing myself.”

“Gods, really? You’re so lovely, it seems you could get anyone,” John noted, picking up his pajamas and wondering if he should dress in the bathroom. Nataliya settled that by opening her suitcase and starting to undress while they spoke.

“I suppose, but the fact is I was raised by a work-a-holic and have been one myself all my life. I never made time for relationships. I’ve never been with anyone longer than a month. Sherlock seemed… relieved by that.”

“He probably figures you haven’t picked up any bad habits that way,” John snickered.

“He mentioned diseases earlier; obviously I’m tested and clean since the last relationship.”

“I’ve been playing the field, but we’ve been safe. I got tested a month ago just as a precaution and it came up clean.”

“Then we can go bare tomorrow if you like.”

John paused and swallowed hard, his eyes raising to get a good look at the lovely woman. She was wearing a comfortable cotton vest and a pair of boyshort undees. She looked like a wife already.

“Is this alright? I have something slinky with me, but I thought it would be a tease with him asleep.”

“No, that’s… perfect,” John replied, licking his lips and nodding, “I’m just a bit shell shocked.”

“Me, too. Mrs. John Watson! Gods!”

John grinned like a fool and walked across the room to press a kiss to her cheek, “Come to bed. We’ll lie with me in the middle since he’s familiar with me.”

“And tomorrow we’ll have morning sex,” She winked flirtatiously, “Unless he’s in one of those moods he warned me about… in which case I’ll make flapjacks.”

“Oh, ta, that’s as good as sex,” John snickered, rolling his eyes.

“Oi! You haven’t had _my_ flapjacks!” She replied, giving him a playful swat.

They crawled into bed together, snuggling close and giving Sherlock a bit of space. John spent a few lazy moments stroking her hips, but she stopped him with a hiss about him being the tease. It was more likely a sign of how much he implicitly trusted Sherlock’s judgment of people, rather than comfort with his new wife, that let him drift off to sleep so quickly.

[Chapter 8](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/118172.html)


	8. vincentmeoblinn | To provide for your needs Ch 8

“John,” Sherlock hissed, and poked him in the hip, “John! Wake up. She’s on her back. Eat her out.”

That last statement brought John awake rather fast, but rather than devouring the sleeping woman before him he rolled over to have a _very_ awkward conversation with his flatmate.

“Ah, Sherlock, we need to talk about consent.”

“She’s your wife. She’s already consented.”

“She’s been my wife for eight hours or so, and my acquaintance for barely an hour longer than that. That’s not long enough to give consent for surprise morning oral sex,” John whispered back angrily.

“You expect _vaginal_ sex from women I pull for you after far less time in your company, and that’s far more invasive,” Sherlock pointed out, “And this one is already in our bed.”

“Yes, but… well… look, morning sex isn’t as good as you think it is.”

“You’re referring to morning breath?” Sherlock replied with a frown, “It is a bit pungent. Perhaps an antibacterial mouthwa…”

“I can’t smell your breath from between my legs,” Nataliya whispered, “And kissing is optional during surprise morning oral sex. Feel free to skip it.”

John couldn’t help himself. He snickered. Sherlock joined him and the soft peels of Nataliya’s giggles joined theirs. It was nice, hearing a woman’s voice and knowing she wouldn’t be leaving. John hissed at Sherlock to pass him a dental dam, but he hissed back that she was clean and to ‘enjoy his breakfast’. That inspired more giggling, but John ducked beneath the covers and the giggling turned from giddy to naughty. John playfully pried her squirming legs open and buried his face between her thighs, breathing in her scent and moaning at the sharp taste that assailed his senses. It had been so _long_ since he’d properly eaten a woman out and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the full contact and bitter tang. His tongue explored her eagerly, the long inner lips kissing his in the most intimate way as she began to moisten from more than his saliva. She was moaning heatedly as he lathed his tongue over her clit, humping the mattress shamelessly as he pleasured them both. Sherlock ended his warm tent of female musk by pulling the covers off of his head.

“I can’t _see_!” Sherlock growled, “Is that how it’s done without a dam?”

“Does he always talk?” Nataliya gasped.

“Always,” John growled against her crotch.

“Good thing he’s got a great voice.”

“Mmm, talk deeper, Lock,” John muttered, beginning to flick his tongue fast over her clit.

“ _Lock?!_ ” Sherlock snapped, “Umm, no.”

“Oh, yeah, like that!” Nataliya gasped, “Yes!”

John wasn’t sure whom she was shouting to, but he kept up his movements despite his cramping jaw and added a finger into her shockingly tight entrance. He pumped it into the clenching heat and moaned enthusiastically.

“My talking, or his efforts?” Sherlock asked, “Are voices really that attractive? Or is it just that mine is? Why deeper?”

_Why is he talking so much? He never did before. Unless… oh no… oh no, he’s_ comfortable _around her! He’s going to be himself instead of Mr. Charm At The Pub! We’re so fucked. I hope that pre-nup went through._

“Mph, yes! Deep voices are sooo sexy.”

_Queen of multitasking isn’t she?_

“Do you often multitask during sex?” Sherlock questioned, echoing John’s thoughts as he often did.

“First time… for… everything…”

“Does it bother you?”

“A… bit…”

“Should I stop? I want to interact, but without touching.”

“Try… talking about sexy things,” She groaned, wriggling a bit and angling her hips more.

John was getting irritated, he was sure she’d been close before Sherlock had decided to start asking sociopathic questions.

“I’m unsure as to what is sexy, but John usually compliments women so I’ll start there. Let’s see… your eyebrows are surprisingly even, I see you wax them regularly. You’ll need someone new now that you’re in England, perhaps my assistant Molly can help you find one. She often alters her features in a misguided attempt to attract me and…”

“Okay. That’s it,” John sat up with a sigh, “Sherlock, we need to talk.”

“You two do that often, don’t you,” Nataliya panted, slipping her fingers between her thighs.

“Good, you keep that going, we’ll just be a tick,” Sherlock stated, sitting up cross-legged and raising an eyebrow at John.

“Keep that go…” John paused and rubbed at his face, “Sherlock, you know how to be romantic. I know you do. I’ve seen it.”

“I have?”

“Yes.”

“When?” Sherlock looked genuinely confused.

“When you’ve watched before.”

“I was just… observing. Enjoying the view.”

_Which view?_ _No! Don’t let him distract you!_

“Both views,” Sherlock answered his unspoken question, “I enjoy your pleasure and the women’s bodies.”

“So you’re straight?”

“I suppose,” Sherlock shrugged, “But back to being romantic?”

“Ah, yes. Sitting there and watching with that heavy lidded look, masturbating if you like, even the smoking wasn’t bad unless Nataliya dislikes smoking?”

“Don’t care,” Nataliya replied breathily, “Two naked men having a chat is actually doing it for me, though.”

“Should we continue?” Sherlock pouted, “I was rather hoping you’d have intercourse with her.”

John’s cock gave an interested twitch and he turned his eyes back to the woman wriggling on the bed once more.

“And _I_ was looking forward to not doing all the work myself,” She breathed, smiling a bit.

John smirked and pounced on her eagerly, avoiding her mouth due to morning (and pussy) breath and kissing along her neck instead. She giggle a bit, hissed at his morning stubble, and then moaned as he stroked his cockhead along her dripping wet pussy. He lifted himself up on one hand so he could maneuver himself inside as she’d suddenly stiffened beneath him. He met her eyes reassuringly as Sherlock stretched out beside them, slowly stroking his cock as he watched. John glanced at his gorgeous flatmate, he’d never been this close before, and then smiled back down at his lovely wife. She was flushed red, her face damp with sweat causing the hair at her temples to curl a bit. Her pupils were blown wide and her lips plump from biting them. He wanted a kiss so he leaned in and stole a chaste one before angling himself to press inside of her.

John hissed in at the almost too tight press around his cock. She was so tight that he thought he’d missed a moment and pulled back out before pressing in once more when she grasped his arse to pull him back in.

“S’tight,” John gasped.

“Been a long time,” Nataliya groaned.

“Fuck,” Sherlock gasped.

And came across them both.

http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/120623.html


	9. vincentmeoblinn | To provide for your needs Ch 9

For one horrifying second John thought he’d come all over himself in his sleep and this was all a bizarre dream, especially given Sherlock’s satisfied- instead of properly horrified- facial expression. Then Nataliya gave his arse a sharp slap and he buried himself inside her with a grunt. He stilled a moment, groaning at the tightness while she gasped beneath him.

“So full… fuck, I forgot what this felt like.”

“Is John large for a man?” Sherlock asked, but was summarily ignored since John had taken that moment to slide free and press back inside with a contented moan.

“Yes!” Nataliya cried out… hopefully answering Sherlock as well as voicing approval.

John couldn’t agree more, so he began pressing into her at a steady pace, aiming for the deep strokes and near withdrawals that he found women enjoyed at first. She was comfortable around his cock now, wet and grasping him perfectly, and he was glorying in the feel of a woman’s pussy without a barrier between them. He changed his thrust as she started making more desperate noises and began to give her short, deep, sharp thrusts that let his (surprisingly useful) pudge stimulate her clit as well as stroking her g-spot from within. It wasn’t long before his _very_ prepped bride was panting for more and _clawing_ at his arse.

“Yes, do that. He loves it when women leave marks on him,” Sherlock advised, and John gasped as Nataliya _really_ dug her nails in, “We’ll have to find you a manicurist as well.”

“Sherlooock!” John cried out, his voice alarmingly tinted with pleasure despite speaking a man’s name, “Ah! Shut it!”

Sherlock smirked and stroked a finger through his come on John’s hip before dipping it into Nataliya’s mouth.

John came shouting in surprised pleasure and Nataliya was _thankfully_ right behind him, sucking on Sherlock’s finger as she moaned and wriggled and moaned some more. She went limp beneath him while John shouted a few curses at Sherlock before dropping his face back between her thighs to recover some of his reputation. Thankfully Nataliya was so keyed up and sensitive that he had her rolling into a second orgasm within a minute. He came up smug and satisfied at the sight of his new wife’s satisfied smile. Then he glared at Sherlock who just smiled at him like the cat who got the cream.

“How was I to know you’d go off like a rocket just because I…”

“Stuck your come coated finger in her mouth? Yes, how could that possibly be erotic?!”

Sherlock shrugged and John ran that sentence through his mind a few times, “Don’t answer that. Either of you.”

Nataliya smiled lazily and giggled before nudging him to climb off. He collapsed between his two flatmates and she headed for the shower with a yawn.

“I’ll get breakfast started after I wash, if it’s all the same to you two. Come on in and use the loo if you need to, I’m not shy, just don’t flush it. I may be from Russia, but that doesn’t mean I _want_ to be freezing cold!”

John smiled after her and then grinned at Sherlock, “She’s really something.”

“Yes, Mycroft was appalled. He stated several statistics that showed the likelihood of me finding a woman similar to myself in personality, yet capable of socializing on your level, to be shockingly unlikely. Especially when factoring in the time constraints in which I found her, that she was available, that she wished to marry immediately…”

“This isn’t going to turn out to be a plot by another arch enemy is it?” John asked worriedly.

“I had considered that Mycroft had ‘planted’ her on the site, but I’ve seen no definite evidence.”

“If she calls him ‘Boris’ we’ll know for sure,” John decided, still a bit light headed from having such fantastic sex.

“John, that’s racist,” Sherlock frowned, “I thought better of you.”

“Sorry, just being silly. I don’t mean it. I _love_ her accent. I almost wish it were thicker.”

“She has to be fluent to apply for citizenship, even under a fiancé license.”

“Mmm,” John replied, drifting through a beautiful field of oxytocin and testosterone.

“Is she really making breakfast?” Sherlock asked, startling the dozing John awake, “I told her I rarely eat.”

“Have you been watching me sleep again?” John asked, smiling as he stretched.

“It soothes me to know you are nearby for my… care.”

John smiled softly and had one of those moments where he wished he could hold the man. Instead he got up to wash the semen and other fluids off his body. Sherlock pissed while he did so and then headed back out into the kitchen buck-naked. John heard Nataliya’s laughter soon after- so far so good.

XXXXXXXXXXX

John came home from his shift rather late two days later to find Nataliya plunging the toilet with the sort of rage usually reserved for violently stabbing an abusive spouse. John paused a moment, watching her and noting the red-tinted water, and then braced himself before he asked.

“Experiment?”

“The criminals in Britain are dumb fuck asses!”

“Okay.”

“Honestly?! What _moron_ would cut up a body and stuff it down a toilet?!”

“Oh, gods, the whole thing?”

“Yes the whole thing! No wonder Sherlock gets _bored_! Who would think for even a second that an entire person could be flushed down the toilet?!”

_And yet he just had to confirm it wasn’t possible himself…_

“Half the time,” Nataliya continued, pausing to flush and stare accusingly at the water as it began to overflow again, “Half the time I can’t even get shit to flush!”

“Ours is modified. You shouldn’t have that trouble here.”

“I might not,” Nataliya snapped at him, “If there wasn’t a leg bone stuck in the elbow pipe!”

John winced, “Why don’t you let me do that? You shouldn’t have to put up w…”

“Don’t you come one step closer!” Nataliya snapped at him, pointing the plunger at him as if it were a weapon, “I’m plunging this fucking toilet if it’s the _last thing I do_! You aren’t taking this from me, got it?”

“Yeah, got it, clearly,” John replied, backing off with hands raised.

“Of all the insufferable, ignorant, annoying, irritating…” Nataliya continued her rant as she plunged the toilet with both hands and a face full of wrath.

“Sherlock’s just got this insatiable curiosity…” John stated, trying to smooth the situation over.

“Not _him!_ He’s a scientist. I get that.”

“The criminal who tried this nutty attempt at getting rid of a body in the first place?” John asked.

“Yes! If he hadn’t tried it, Sherlock never would have tried to repeat it and I wouldn’t be standing here covered in blood and viscera plunging human remains out of a crapper! They’re all complete _morons!”_

“Here! Here!” Sherlock cheered from the sitting room.

“QUIET YOU!” Nataliya shouted, “YOU’RE IN TIME OUT!”

Sherlock was shockingly silent. John wanted to applaud, but he settled for backing away slowly until he reached Sherlock.

“She’s a bit…” John started.

“Terrifying?” Sherlock suggested.

“Yes, that.”

“You adore it.”

“I’m also more than a bit alarmed considering the cause of my latest stiffy is covered in human blood and plunging a toilet.”

“You’re a complicated man, John,” Sherlock teased, “I’m sure you’ll manage to deal with this new aspect of your sexuality.”

“I hate you both.”

“No you don’t,” Sherlock snorted.

“No, I don’t,” John sighed and sank down onto the couch beside Sherlock, “Fact is I like her… and I love you.”

“Sentiment,” Sherlock snorted, but John knew that he felt the same.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sherlock was getting more comfortable with Nataliya, and it was happening at a surprising rate. John soon found Sherlock snuggling with them _both_ on the couch, his apprehension about being touched apparently appeased now that he was certain John wasn’t going anywhere.

“Our needs are all met,” He stated contentedly when John questioned him.

Which was why John shouldn’t have been shocked to come home and find Nataliya on the (cleaned!) table, with her hands clasping her spread legs beneath her knees and Sherlock standing between them with his trousers down around his ankles and an impressive erection in his hand. Still, it was rather shocking, so he stared at the scene before him with his jaw somewhere around his ankles. Sherlock glanced at him and then back at John’s (their?) wife’s pussy and chewed on his lip in clear worry. He seemed to be trying to figure out how to start.

“Is this alright?” Nataliya asked, an apprehensive look on her face as well, “He said you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind?” John asked, wondering where his was.

“Do you? Should we stop?” Nataliya asked anxiously.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffed, and then pressed forward and buried himself halfway inside of her.

John swallowed down a groan and adjusted his aching cock in his trousers. Sherlock looked overwhelmed, and he was standing stock still and gaping down at her while breathing rather fast. He closed his eyes and swallowed as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. John thought he might be close to a panic attack.

_Oh, shit. He_ is _a virgin… or at least it’s been a long time and he’s trying not to blow it right now._

“It’s okay,” John soothed, stepping up behind Sherlock and putting his hands on his hips, “Use your hand to stimulate her, too. Your thumb here… like this.”

John showed Sherlock how to rub the pad of his thumb across her clit and watched in satisfaction as Nataliya flushed, her lips parting as her breath quickened. Sherlock watched her for nearly a minute, completely fascinated with her growing arousal, but Nataliya’s efforts to keep her hips still failed eventually and he found himself being popped out of her rather suddenly. Sherlock gasped at the sudden squeeze and release, and John worried he’d come right then, but he looked frustrated instead. John’s body was aching to press against _someone’s_ , but he was also aware that while Sherlock might cuddle with them he had never engaged in sex with either of them up until this point.

“Let me?” John asked,

“Yes.”

John reached around Sherlock and pinched the base of his penis to keep him from climaxing while guiding him into Nataliya’s body. That was when he realized he had a rather big disadvantage from this position- aside from his height requiring he peer around Sherlock’s shoulder, that is.

“Good angle, Taliya?”

“Mmm, yeah. Bit upward would be even better.”

John adjusted Sherlock’s hips and then guided him out and back in, still gripping the base of his penis. The man moaned throatily, hands bracing on the table on either side of Nataliya. John found himself rubbing his hips against Sherlock’s thigh as he pushed the pace faster, one hand on the consulting detective’s hip and one around his cock. John was drowning in the smells around him; Sherlock’s sweat and Nataliya’s pussy were overwhelming, while Sherlock’s deodorant and Nataliya’s mild perfume seemed to tease him on every other breath. He was soon joining his lovers in their hungry moans and all but shouted in excitement when Nataliya shouted out her orgasm. He felt Sherlock’s cock twitch in his hand and released his grip to let the poor man climax.

“John!” Sherlock cried out hips stuttering as he fucked her under his own power for the first time in their encounter, his pleasure pushing his fears aside.

“Oh, gods, Sherlock!” John cried out, then stepped back to pull out his cock and stroke it quickly to completion. A few strokes was all it took and he slid down the wall to pant on the floor, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. He glanced up blearily to see a bit of his semen dripping down Sherlock’s hip and the man himself panting and glancing back between them both with a pleased look on his face. Nataliya sat herself up and, as usual, managed to look completely composed despite having just been fucked by her ‘second husband’.

XXX

Sherlock was in heaven. He had the most satisfying, soft, wet, hot, feeling wrapped around his aching cock, a woman he found both amusing and intelligent receiving _pleasure_ from him below, and John rutting against him and holding him so safely in his arms. Sherlock had never felt both contained and exposed in his life, but the feeling was a heady one. He was quickly approaching orgasm, and he doubted even John’s firm grip on his shaft would hold him back, so he rubbed her clit with a firmer touch and she began to wriggle and cry out.

Her breasts looked appealing, so he reached out to cup one and she released her thighs- placing her ankles on his shoulders and nearly kicking a dazed John in the forehead in the process- and grasped his hand and one breast. Sherlock watched in awe as she showed him how to stimulate the soft lumps and found himself tweaking her nipples. She snatched his hand up and moistened his fingers by sucking on them, drawing more embarrassing sounds from Sherlock. She then brought them back to her nipples where he stroked and teased them, watching her toss her head in pleasure.

John was moaning and rubbing his erection against Sherlock’s thigh; he thought he’d be horrified by it, but his trust was so much that he merely whimpered in pleasure at the feel of his best friend and beloved so aroused against him. John was close, so lost to pleasure that he was pressing kisses to Sherlock’s shoulder without being aware of it. He mewled both their names, his tone needy, and it seemed to set Nataliya off.

When Nataliya came it was almost too tight for Sherlock, her pussy grasping him and her fluids soaking his thick nest of curls at the same time. Sherlock cried out, but his voice was drowned out by Nataliya’s very vocal climax. John chose that moment to release his cock and Sherlock’s hips took on a life of his own as he found himself deeper inside her and with that _grasping_ feeling! He was coming before he knew what was happening, crying out for John as he clenched her hips in both hands. John’s warmth left his back, but he could still hear the man so he had no fear of abandonment. In fact, a warm splash against his hip let him know why his precious friend had stepped back. Sherlock smiled, grateful for John’s pleasure _and_ his respect not to cross the boundaries they had set. Touching Sherlock was one thing, but he’d rather keep sex between himself and Nataliya, Nataliya and John… though this was _quite_ good as well.

XXX

“Well, that was both unexpected and fantastic,” Nataliya smiled, “Could we do that again sometime? Or I could ride Sherlock during one of his treatments. That swing can hold two, right? Or perhaps I could have you both at once?”

“How would that work?” Sherlock asked, apparently interested in the last option.

“You could double up on me,” She smiled, “It would take a bit of work but I’m sure I could take you both in if we tried. I’m not so tight as I was. Perhaps a very large dildo to stretch me out. I could take it once a night until I’m ready.”

John’s jaw was hanging open. His cock was trying valiantly to get hard again, bless him, but he didn’t have the refractory period of a Uni student anymore.

“John, go shopping. Get Taliya a very large dildo… and some flavored lubricant,” Sherlock ordered with a grin.

“That stuffs usually shit,” John informed him, grabbing some paper towels to clean himself up.

“Never mind then. I’ll make some. Nataliya, move. I require my chemistry table back.”

Nataliya hopped down, gave John a quick kiss, and then headed for the bathroom without a backward glance. John looked at Sherlock a moment longer, but the naked man was busy pulling his chemistry kit out of boxes from the floor beneath the table. He didn’t give John a second glance, so John straightened his clothes and headed out to the nearest adult store to buy Nataliya a toy to prep her for taking them both in her pussy at once.

_Interesting life we have here,_ John thought as the rather amused shop attendant rang him up.

“It’s not for me,” John stated with a blush.

“Sure it isn’t,” The man chuckled, “Trust me, buddy. You can lie to your bartender and your mates, but not to your porn store clerk. I don’t care how much you love to bottom. Not my business. I’m just here to sell the goods and hear a good story from time to time.”

The man raised an eyebrow and John grinned, “Yeah, okay, but you’ll _never_ believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Okay. Sure. Right. So, it all started with my flatmate and his morphine addiction…”

_Fin_.


End file.
